Monster
by Winchester Mythology
Summary: Sam's wall has broken but he is determined not to be a victim. What if memories of hell and hallucinations weren't the only things let loose? Amidst a backdrop of cases, will the boys discover what's wrong before it's too late? Can Sam be saved? AU set around season 7 with elements of season 11 (no spoilers except who Amara is).
1. Tear Me Up and Break Me Down

Hey guys! Having been on an extended rewatching binge of SPN, my brain started spitting out plans for this fic. I hope you enjoy! This is AU – it's sort of a mash up of season 7 and 11 (no Leviathan) so it's not really following canon (basically imagine Amara turning up in season 7). It starts off as a case fic but will develop beyond that.

 **oOo**

 **Jamestown, North Dakota**

"I just don't get it." Rising up from his squatted position on the floor next to the body, Dean let out an exasperated huff.

"Get what?" Sam asked, murmuring a quick thank you to the uniformed officer he had been chatting to before turning back to his brother. He flipped the cover of his notepad closed and slid it back into the left inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"This," Dean said quietly, waving his hand at the body on the ground. "How is this in anyway our type of case?"

The girl at his feet appeared to be in her late teens. Blond hair splayed out across the pavement, matted and lifeless against the black tarmac. Her head was tilted to the left, her right arm raised and resting while her left arm lay at her side. If she wasn't in the middle of the alley, she'd almost look asleep. Except her eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the wall; the rest of her face contorted in a lasting image of horror and agony. Her legs were bent at an unnatural angle as though she had just crumpled to the floor. The streetlight overhead glistened on the liquid staining the ground beside her throat; an ugly jagged cut stood out starkly against the porcelain skin on her neck.

"According to the uniform over there, the forensic guys were muttering about how odd this was; I fits with what I picked it up on the radio chatter" Sam replied, his brows furrowing as his gaze dropped to the girl. He hunched down. Kept his eyes firmly on the body, away from Lucifer who crouched beside the victim, absentmindedly jabbing into her neck wound with a finger. Sam's stomach roiled nauseatingly. "Look." He shone the light from his phone onto the pool of blood next to her head. Dean bent over, frowning. Sam gestured to the substance. "If Annabel had simply just had her throat slit by her killer before they ran, there would be so much more blood. I'd say there's no more than a pint here, tops. The average person has eight."

"Maybe the killer moved her body" Dean offered, although he doubted the likelihood of that himself. Sam shook his head.

"There's no evidence to suggest the body was moved. So if she's here, where's the rest of her blood?"

"Ah man, I hate playing guess who," Dean grumbled as he rose again. Sam fell into step beside him as they moved back towards the Impala. Ignored Lucifer humming 'I just Died in your Arms'. "Or in our case, guess what? Vampire? Djinn?"

Sam frowned over the roof of the car. "Why would a vampire cut her throat? A djinn could've fed on her for days, using that trick that one used on you years ago." Dean grimaced at the memory; djinn were known for using hallucinogens to incapacitate their victims so that they could prolong their 'use'. "It all seems a bit…messy."

Dean grunted as he slid into the driver's seat. The doors creaked as the boys slammed them shut. "We should see the family and get into the morgue but that's gonna have to wait until the morning." Turning the ignition, the Impala roared to life. "God, I'm starving."

"Dinner and lore it is then."

"I get all tingly when you make such romantic suggestions" Dean grinned. Sam rolled his eyes, already moving his attention to his phone, flinching when Lucifer repeated Dean's words in his ear.

 **oOo**

"Ok, thanks Bobby." Sam ended the call, placing his phone back on the stained coffee table of their motel room. He glanced over at the beds; Dean lay against the headboard, his head drooping, fingers still on his laptop. "Dean!" The older Winchester snorted unceremoniously as he jerked awake, glancing at Sam.

"I wasn't asleep!" He mumbled, arching his back as he stretched. Sam chuckled.

"Right. Because you regularly drool on yourself when you're conscious," he teased. Dean wiped a hand across his face. "I just got off the phone with Bobby. He's as stumped as we are. He said to treat it as though it's a djinn, but to be prepared for something else."

"Silver knives and buckshot it is then" Dean yawned, glancing at the clock. 4.30am. "Jesus, Sammy, go to bed; we'll sort this in the morning." He closed his own laptop and slid it onto the table beside him. Sammy knocked back the final finger of whiskey in his glass before standing and stretching. With his arms above his hand, he could've nearly touched the ceiling.

"What's wrong bunk-buddy; feeling tired?" Same winced as Lucifer whispered, almost seductively, in his ear. His arms fell and he clenched his left hand in his right, pressing his thumb viciously into the still-healing wound of his palm.

 _Make it stone number one and build on it._

Lucifer vanished with a snigger. Sam sighed with relief; he'd managed to ignore the hallucination for most of the day. It felt like progress. He glanced back at Dean as he moved across the room; his brother was half-watching him through drooping eyelids. He knew Sam still hallucinated but he didn't pressure him. He was stone number one and that's what Sam had to cling to. Flopping down onto the dilapidated mattress that squeaked horrendously as he landed on it, Sam kicked his shoes off and curled onto his side, hugging the pillow beneath his head. Sleep came quickly.

The dreams were quicker.

 **oOo**

 **Please review!**


	2. The Nightmare's Just Begun

_The alley was dark and inviting; plumes of smoke rising from the manhole covers littering the ground. Shadows flickered in the dying streetlight, stretching themselves forlornly up the graffiti-littered walls. She sauntered ahead of him; her walk confident and flirtatious. She knew he was watching. She drew him deeper into the alley, away from civilisation, away from prying eyes. She slowed, turning and facing him head on. Her eyes met his, her hands on her hips. He stepped closer to her. So close that she was forced to shift her gaze up drastically. His whole body hummed. Her smirked was crooked, unpleasant. A complete contrast to her walk._

 _"You shouldn't have come." She stated, matter-of-fact._

 _"Neither should you." Her eyes widened as the knife flashed in the light. Just once. It slashed her carotid artery; she convulsed, flopping against him before he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her gushing throat. His head dropped and he clamped his mouth over the wound, sucking powerfully._

 **oOo**

"Sam!" He started awake, groggily looking up at Dean who stood over him, his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Dude, you were thrashin' around like a crazy person. What's goin' on?" Sam rubbed his hand across his face, sitting up. His forehead was drenched in sweat.

"It was just a dream. Guess that's what happens when you go to sleep thinking about the case" he replied. Dean frowned but didn't comment. Sometimes dreams were just dreams and, let's face it, they both had seen enough to give them endless nightmares until the end of time. He finished buttoning his shirt, reaching for the blue striped tie.

"Right, well, we should work out what the hell we're dealing with. I'll drop you off with the family. You can work out what kinda person Annabel was. I'll hit the morgue."

 **oOo**

The Watson family home stood on a quiet suburban street lined with white picket fences and minivans. The lawns were immaculate, sprinklers fluffing water in lazy arches, powdering the manicured grass. Fairy lights were wrapped around the bannisters on either side of the porch, inviting visitors up to the main entrance.

Inside, the house was full of family memorabilia. In the living room, photo frames were dotted across every surface and wall, proudly displaying a content and happy family in various places: at home, skiing in Banff, swimming in Hawaii. Two large cream sofas dominated the room, facing each other with a long mahogany coffee table stretched between them. Mr and Mrs Watson huddled together on one sofa, their legs touching as Mr Watson grasped his wife's hand. She dabbed under her eyes with a tissue every few seconds, trying unsuccessfully to blot away her tears.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Watson; I know this is hard for you, but I just have a few more questions," Sam said, compassion colouring his voice. "Was there anything usual going on with Annabel recently? It could be anything: hanging out with different people, changing routine - anything at all."

The Watsons glanced at each other and Sam felt his heart quicken; there was something.

"Well…Annabel has been…odd recently" Mr Watson started.

"Odd how?" Sam asked, leaning forward on his knees.

"Annabel was a typical sixteen year old; she had a nice group of friends, her scores at school were good and sometimes she pushed the boundaries, but what teenager doesn't?" Mr Watson continued. "But recently…she was…moody. Sullen. She's lock herself away in her room when she was here but then, when she did go out, she'd miss curfew. She was actually grounded yesterday because of that. She must've snuck out her window." Mrs Watson's shoulders heaved as another sob shuddered through her. He husband squeezed her hand, tears brimming in his own eyes.

"Did she mention any new friends?"

"No, but when we called her friends' parents, they all said that she'd been distancing herself from their children. We couldn't understand it. Please, Agent Cooper, find whoever did this." Sam rose, nodding to the couple as he let himself out.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand, pulling his phone from his pocket with the other. No messages. Dean should've finished at the morgue by now. He glanced around the neighbourhood, noting the calm atmosphere that blanketed the whole area as he dialled Dean's number. It went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me. I'm done at the Watsons'. Come get me when you're done." He started walking down the street, glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs and scope the area while he waited for his brother.

"A bit useless at this aren't you?" He jumped, head snapping to the side as Lucifer fell into step beside him. He squeezed his left palm, waiting for the hallucination to dissipate. Lucifer continued to walk beside him, grinning. "Your little palm trick really only works when Dean's around doesn't it? He gives you something else to think about - someone else to concentrate on. Here? Just you and me, Sammy." Sam shifted his gaze away, quickening his pace. "I can't believe you can't even see what's in front of you. You've gone soft; you can't even handle one simple case." Lucifer grinned despite Sam's lack of response. He just kept staring resolutely ahead. "It's pathetic really. The answer is so obvious that you can't even see it."

"Shut UP! If you're so damn clever, why don't you solve the damn thing!" Sam turned and shouted, fists clenched at his sides.

"Sam?"

He whipped his head around, eyes meeting Dean's over the roof of the Impala.

"Dean I-I didn't hear you pull up" Sam murmured, starting towards the car, Lucifer's laugh ringing in his ears.

"That's because you were too busy shouting at no one in the middle of the street with your gun drawn," Dean retorted, his frown etched deeply into his forehead. Sam looked down in surprise.

"I didn't…I don't remember drawing my gun."

"You said you had this under control, Sam."

"I do!"

"Clearly, you don't. C'mon, man. You call waving a gun around in the suburbs 'control'?"

"Dean, I'm _fine_ " Sam growled through clenched teeth as he got into the Impala.

"Oh yeah, you're _sooooo_ fine, aren't you?" Lucifer sniggered, his breath tickling Sam's ear. He flinched. Dean looked from Sam, who stared angrily out through the windshield, his jaw taught, to the back seat. There was nothing there.

"I knew coming out on this case was too soon. We should head back to Bobby's" he stated softly.

"Dean, _no_. We need to finish this."

"Honestly Sam, even if I wasn't concerned about you, I would've still said we should go anyway."

"What? Why?"

"The autopsy was completely normal. Ok, yeah, there was blood missing, but not half as much as the forensic guys thought in the first place – three or four pints, max. I honestly think Annabel was just the victim of some human scumbag. There are no other reported cases in the area with missing blood. I say we head home and keep our feelers out for anything similar that crops up. In the meantime, you can work on getting the crazy back in the box."

Sam shook his head. "Three or four pints is still a pretty big amount to lose, Dean. Plus, it doesn't tie in with what the family said. Annabel was acting weird – sneaking out, missing curfew, isolating herself from her friends."

"Sounds like a typical teenager to me."

"Teenagers don't just mystically change overnight. I'm telling you – there is _something_ going on here. If we leave now, whatever it is will do it again."

Dean stared at his brother. Noted the deeper shade of black under his eyes which Sam was fighting to keep trained on Dean. He couldn't stop them flicking to the back seat every now and then though. His hair was tousled; he'd pushed it back haphazardly with one hand too many times; a motion he generally only did when he was stressed. He was far from fine, no matter what he kept saying, but if there was one thing Dean knew, it was that his brother was stubborn. If Sam believed there was a case here, he wasn't simple going to let it drop. Dean sighed and held out his hand. Sam frowned in confusion.

"Give me your gun."

"What?"

"Sam, if you want to stay and work the case, fine, we'll stay. But I'm not convinced that you're as stable as you think you are. Until we're certain, I don't think carrying a firearm is in your best interest. Give me your gun."

Sam sighed; he knew Dean wouldn't drop it. He was sick of being treated like a child, like a victim. He wasn't that fragile, yes, he was broken but he wasn't in pieces anymore.

"Fine." He fished his gun out from under his jacket and passed it to Dean who double checked the safety and put it under his own jacket.

 **oOo**

By the evening, the boys were at a total loss. They'd visited Annabel's friends and school, managing to turn up nothing that they didn't already know. The friends confirmed what her parents had said; Annabel had been behaving strangely, sneaking off and refusing to tell people where she'd been. Her teachers commented on her sullenness and lack of effort but couldn't tell them more than that.

Bobby and the internet had turned up nothing else. They were officially out of leads. Dean walked back into the motel room from the bathroom, walking over to where his half-finished beer sat. He took a mouthful, rubbing at the drowsiness that was worming its way in behind his eyes with one hand. Sam was flat out on his bed, phone in one hand, a book open and resting on his chest which rose and fell smoothly with each breath. Dean smiled softly at the boyish vulnerability his brother still had when he slept. He moved over to his sleeping brother, gently lifting the book off of his chest and removing his phone from his hand, placing both on the bedside table. Grabbing the blanket that was haphazardly hanging off the end of his own unmade bed, Dean draped it over his sleeping form.

He took a final swig of his beer, swaying slightly. How was he this tired? Yawning mightily, he kicked off his shoes, double checked that Sam's gun was safely stowed under his pillow (along with his own) before flopping down face first into his pillow. Within minutes, his gentle snores filled the room.

 **oOo**

A soft thump woke him. Blearily, Dean lifted his head, squinting up at the tall figure stood over Sam's bed. His eyes groggily scanned the build of the man, recognising him.

"Sam, what're you doing?" He mumbled.

"Just getting a glass of water, Dean. Go back to sleep." Sam responded. Dean grunted, rolling over. One part of his brain registered how awake his brother sounded, but was quickly overpowered by the need to sleep again.

 **oOo**

"So I was thinking," Sam began around a mouthful of pancake, "we should go back to the alley. Annabel had to be going down there for a reason. Maybe we're missing something blindingly obvious."

Dean shrugged, gulping his coffee. "Can't hurt. S'not like we've got much else to go on." His chair screeched against the floor as he pushed back, crossing over to his bed to collect his things. Sam finished his own coffee, chasing down the remnants of his breakfast. He stared out of the window tiredly. For all the sleep he'd had, he didn't feel rested at all. Dean moved his pillow, frowning.

"Sam, did you move your gun?"

"What? No. Why would I?" Sam answered, turning back to face his brother. Dean flung his covers back, checking under the bed and around it.

"It was there!" he gestured to the top of the bed. "I remember double checking it was there before I went to bed."

"What do you want me to say, Dean? I told you I wouldn't carry it and I'm not!" Sam shrugged. "Maybe you just think you put it there." Dean ground his teeth; he knew where he'd put it. He pulled the drawer of the bedside table open. He grabbed the gun, starting down at it in confusion. "See? You must've put in there. Why would you need two under your pillow?"

…Had he put it there? Dean hesitated.

"Maybe you're not the only looney in the bin" Lucifer grinned, leaning over Dean's shoulder. His eyes were fixed on Sam. "A family trait, perhaps?" He ignored the devil, pushing his arms through his jacket.

"Whatever. Let's go." Dean huffed, concealing his gun and leading the way out of the door.

 **oOo**

In the light, the alley was a lot less eerie. The ground was littered with scraps of old leaflets and oily puddles that left a greasy residue as they dried up. Bins lined one side; the faint putrid smell of rubbish baking in the summer clinging to the air.

This time, the boys weren't interested in the crime scene itself; they were intent on prowling the buildings that lined the alley. One side housed a greasy kebab house, its back door only openable from the inside. The other side appeared to be the home of several abandoned offices, left empty and decaying slowly. The alley was a dead end – Annabel had to have been heading somewhere. This was the obvious choice.

Dean led the way up a second flight of stairs. He breathed shallowly through his mouth, grimacing at the revolting stench that wafted throughout the building. Clearly, this place had been the squatting grounds of several different groups of people; the homeless, drug addicts, other less savoury types. Now, though, it was disturbingly quiet. Dean felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck.

Something wasn't right.

His machete bounced lightly against his thigh as he climbed the final step. Sam walked closely behind him. They walked through a doorway – the door was long gone – and found themselves in a spacious anteroom that would've served as a waiting room in times gone by. Dean stopped, holding his arm out to block Sam. He pointed at the ground. Sam looked down.

Blood spotted the floor.

Dean drew his gun, signalling Sam to unsheathe his machete. They edge forward, constantly scanning the area around them. Moving into the office opposite the stairwell, they both halted and stared in surprise.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, staring at the corpse in the middle of the floor. Sam moved away from him, scouting the rest of the room as Dean approached the body. It appeared to belong to a man in his late twenties, judging by his clothes. His head lay separated from his body, eyes drooped as though he was bored.

"All clear" Sam called, returning to Dean's side. Dean knelt down, signalling to Sam to give him his machete. He used the tip of the blade to lift the man's upper lip, revealing an extra set of incisors embedded into his gums.

"Vampire."

"This is bizarre."

"I'll say," Dean replied, straightening up. "This doesn't make any sense. Did he kill Annabel? Who ganked him? Bobby would've said if he knew another hunter was in town."

"Oh the plot thickens" Lucifer said excitedly, crouching down with Sam. Sam rolled his eyes. He searched the vampire's pockets, looking for anything that could prove useful. He pulled the man's wallet out and flicked it open, finding his driver's licence.

"Gary Burkhardt. According to his ID he's 29 and from Watertown. Course, that doesn't necessarily mean anything." A further rummage produced a knife. "Why would a vamp carry a knife?"

"Maybe he was new? Maybe he was a sadistic son of a bitch. Maybe he liked variety to his kills. Who knows." Dean shrugged. "Case closed I guess."

Sam straightened up, frowning. "This doesn't feel right. It's too…"

"Convenient?" Dean finished for him. "I know. But, hey, it's one less vampire, right?"

"Yeah, I guess" Sam murmured. It didn't sit right with him. There was something off about the whole thing…he just couldn't work out what it was. He grimaced, horrified when Lucifer grabbed the vampire's head by its hair and dangled it in front of him like a grotesque puppet. "We should go."

"Awww Sammy, c'mon. Don't you want a show?" Lucifer's words rang in his ears as he ran down the stairs, Dean calling after him.

"Sam? Sam! Wait!" Dean shouted, grabbing him by the arm. "What's wrong?" Lucifer appeared at the top of the stairs, still grasping the head. He hurled it at the boys. Sam flung Dean to the side, out of the line of the flying head. "Dude! Seriously! What the hell!" Dean shouted, grabbing Sam's arm tightly. "Look at me!"

Sam's wide eyes travelled to Dean's face, blinking hard to focus on him.

"I'm sorry. He-"

"He what?"

"He flung the head at you. I couldn't tell…"

"If it was real?" Sam nodded, panic flickering behind his eyes. Dean grabbed his left hand and pressed. Sam gasped in pain but watched as Lucifer flickered out of view. He looked back at Dean. "Stone number one, right? C'mon, this time we're going back to Bobby's. No arguments."

Sam nodded mutely and followed as Dean prodded him towards the door. The case was over…so why didn't it feel like it was?

 **oOo**

 **So not all sitting right with the boys, but not all cases can be clean cut…right? Please review!**


	3. The Secret Side of Me

**I have taken artistic licence with the fire later on and would like to thank Google Maps for giving me the locations for this chapter! As always, reviews are appreciated! Enjoy!**

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean leaned back in the rigid chair in Bobby's kitchen table. He fidgeted, trying to find a position where the hard wood wasn't digging into his back. His feet found their way onto the stained kitchen table as he took another mouthful of his beer. His laptop balanced precariously on his lap.

"What've I told you 'bout stickin' your boots on my table?" Bobby growled, swatting at his feet as he lumbered past. Dean grinned into the mouth of the beer bottle, dropping his feet to the floor. The old hunter dropped down into the chair opposite, readjusting the won baseball cap on his head. He looked at Dean, his expression drawn and serious. "How you doin', kid?"

"Peachy, as always," Dean shrugged, concentrating on the screen in front of him. He could practically feel Bobby's dissatisfied glare burning a hole in the top of his head. "Where's Sam?"

"Runnin' again, I think. Last I saw he was doin' laps round the back of the scrapyard. For someone you claim to be havin' a meltdown, he seems surprisingly fulla energy."

"Something just ain't right, Bobby; I can feel it." It had been 3 days since the boys' return from Jamestown. Sam had been quiet the entire journey home, simply staring vacantly out of the passenger window. He had barely even registered Dean sat next to him. He seemed…deflated.

Dean was at a complete loss; how do you help someone who was barely hanging on? He liked the physical – things he could hunt, could kill. He couldn't kill Sam's inner turmoil.

He had never felt so helpless.

The younger Winchester had spent the first day resting, ever mindful of Dean's gaze as he watched him read, slam Bobby at chess and clean his entire gun collection. Yet, for the last two, he had been restless, constantly on the move: running, helping shift things around the yard, hell, Bobby had even caught him cleaning out the panic room.

"Yeah, well, I think he's more fine than you give him credit for; the boy is driving me nuts with his incessant movin' around. Can't you take him out somewhere?" Bobby moaned, glancing at his pristine desk which hadn't seen daylight in months before now.

"It just so happens; I think I found us a case – not too far from here." The back door slammed and Sam appeared, pulling headphones out of his ears as he entered the kitchen.

"What's not far from here?" he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his dripping forehead. The ends of his hair were damp and stuck to the back of his neck. His grey t-shirt clung to his sculpted chest which was still rising and falling rapidly. Dean grimaced.

"The shower."

"Very funny," Sam retorted, guzzling from a glass of water.

"Dean says he's found a case" Bobby explained, rolling his eyes. Sam's eyes lit up as he licked the remaining water from his top lip.

"What is it? Where?" Dean turned the laptop to face him. Both Sam and Bobby leaned in, scanning the article.

FAMILY CLAIM HOUSE IS A MENACE

"So get this: the wife claims she's being 'beaten' in the middle of the night by a demon. It says the family are after a cleansing since the last priest ran out in a blind panic." Dean explained as Sam scrolled down. Several pictures of ugly black and yellow bruises littering the back of a woman holding her shirt up were injected throughout the article.

"Ghost?"

"That'd be my guess."

"Do we know anything about the house?"

"Seems pretty normal – 1960s, a few previous owners. We'll probably need to do a bit of digging in Pipestone after we visit the family."

Sam straightened up. "Fine. I'll go shower."

"Don't forget to pack your priest suit!"

"I hate the priest get up…"

"What? Too 'righteous' for you? Things to 'black and white'?"

"I'm not even dignifying your terrible puns with a response." Sam called as he disappeared into the depths of the house.

"Too late – you already did!" Dean called, grinning broadly. Bobby rolled his eyes again; sometimes he wondered how the boys actually functioned like adults.

 **oOo**

 **Pipestone, Minnesota**

The Impala roared up Highway 23, black bonnet flashing in the bright Minnesotan sun. Corn fields stretched for miles on either side of the road which shot like an arrow straight up the middle. Dean leaned one arm lazily out of the window, enjoying the feel of the breeze fluttering against his fingertips. Master of Puppets played softly in the background, complementing the growl of Baby's engine. His gaze flickered over to Sam who sat silently; his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was idly rubbing at the wound on his left palm with his right thumb. Dean doubted he even realised he was doing it.

"So what's goin' on with you, man?" he asked, shifting his eyes back to the road ahead. He sensed rather than watched Sam come out of his daydream.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been runnin' around nonstop at Bobby's. He practically begged me to drag you away."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I feel…twitchy. Like I've got too much energy and nothing seems to burn it off. Kinda like when you're craving a burger or whatever and you don't feel right until you've had one."

"Maybe you need to get laid" Dean laughed flippantly. Sam huffed.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not craving sex, Dean."

"Everyone craves sex, Sam. It's what separates us from the animals."

"I'm pretty sure it's what makes us _like_ the animals," Sam retorted. "It's fine. I think being out working a case will be good for me. Let's face it, ghosts are pretty simple these days. I know what you're doing though; you don't need to pick small cases because of me."

It was Dean's turn to shrug. "So long as we're helping people, what does it matter what we're saving them from?"

"He doesn't think you can handle it" came the mocking singsong from the backseat. Sam flexed his jaw, trying his hardest to ignore the jab. The problem was that Sam believed it. He knew Dean had his best interests at heart but still…it stung. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers; the headache that had been dully throbbing all day just kept ramping itself up. A fine sheen of sweat coated his brow. It wasn't that hot in the Impala…

Great. If he was coming down with something, it would just be another reason for Dean to send him packing back to Bobby's. He cracked open his window a few inches, relieved as the wind ruffled the fine layers in his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The sooner they got to Pipestone, the sooner he could work.

 **oOo**

The house stood on the corner of 2nd and 3rd Avenue South West, nestled behind a small canopy of trees that spilled sunlight on the house like tiny firelights. A circular flowerbed decorated the front lawn with an explosion of bright colours amongst the flowers. A basketball hoop stood parallel to the tarmacked driveway opposite the pathway which wrapped itself around the whole of the outside of the house. It captured the essence of the gothic era but had clearly settled itself into modern living.

"My children are afraid to go into the house, Father. I honestly don't know what to do" the petite brunette explained as she strolled through the garden with Sam. Georgia O'Keefe had the harried look of a desperate mother. While her outer appearance was pristine, Sam could see the fright lurking behind her eyes, the shadows she was desperate to conceal beneath her dark lashes. He had adopted his usual 'priest pose': hands clasped behind his back, head slightly bowed so that his height was less imposing. He nodded sympathetically.

"You say you only moved in a couple of weeks ago?"

"Yes. Normally we would have our priest bless the house before we move in but it was such a hectic move that Ted and I just didn't have time…" As she spoke, Georgia worried her wedding ring, nervously twisting it around her finger over and over. The urge to pull at the dog collar around his neck was overwhelming in the heat – especially when he was wearing a black shirt and suit. Sam glanced up at the house, spying Dean in the window of the living room, his back to the outside. Frowning, Sam focused on a bizarre mark on his brother's back. He gasped, coming to a halt. Georgia looked at him quizzically. "Father? What's wrong?"

Protruding from Dean's back was a fire poker – still dripping. Lucifer sidestepped around Dean, grinning down at Sam. "Father Steven?"

Sam wrenched his eyes away, his chest heaving. He looked at Georgia who stared up at him with wide eyes which he could only assume matched his own look.

"I'm sorry, Georgia. I just…"

"It's overwhelming isn't it? The other priest said he could feel it too."

"Well that's a load of bullshit" Lucifer remarked, whacking at Georgia's rosebushes with the still bloody fire poker, wielding it like a golf club. He lined up each shot carefully before sending the bloom of each flower flying. "There's nothing wrong with the house."

"Who could feel what?" Dean asked as he approached, his face a mask of grave serenity. A low whining noise sounded as he got near them. Dean reached into his inner pocket, appearing to be readjusting his phone.

"Father Steven here was just overcome by the essence of the evil in this house," Georgia explained, her voice low and serious. Dean looked pointedly at Sam.

"Ah. Well Father Steven is very…sensitive to these things" he commented. Sam glared at him over Georgia's head. Dean took her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry, Mrs O'Keefe. We will need to leave you for a little while so that we can prepare the appropriate exorcism. Are you sure the previous owners never mentioned a haunting?"

She shook her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I guess it's not really the type of thing you tell a prospective buyer. Please, get what you need and hurry back."

Dean nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before turning back towards the Impala, Sam in tow.

"'Overcome by the essence of evil' huh?" Dean remarked as he pulled off the drive.

"Yeah well, it's not like I could tell her that Lucifer was hanging out in her living room, could I?" Sam grumbled, rubbing his forehead again. "Did you find anything in the house?"

"Not a speck of EMF anywhere until I came out to you" Dean replied. Sam frowned.

"I don't think the house is haunted. I think the family is."

"What makes you say that?"

"For starters, Georgia said she _normally_ had a priest bless a new house. Ok, she's catholic, but how many go to that kind of lengths for a house? Then…"

"Then what?" Dean prompted when his brother went still.

"It was something Lucifer said" Sam murmured, wincing at his own words. Dean looked at him sharply.

"So now we're _listening_ to the crazy?"

"No, Dean, listen," Sam cut in, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "He said there was nothing wrong with the house. That fits with what you said about there not being any EMF. There were no reports of any hauntings at the property before the O'Keefes moved in. I think there's something she's not telling us."

"Time to look into the family history then."

 **oOo**

By dusk, the boys had everything they needed. They stood on the porch, dusk having long settled in the sky behind them. Every light in the house appeared to be on yet it was just Georgia who opened the door again. She silently gestured for the Winchesters to enter, leading them to the living room. Heat radiated from the fire which was odd considering the temperature outside. Dean placed a duffle bag down on the dining table in the corner, pulling out a can of rock salt and an iron bar, placing both on the table. He left the shotgun and accelerant in the bag for the moment. Georgia looked at the items in confusion.

"I don't understand…don't you need your bibles to exorcise demons?"

"Georgia is there anything you need to tell us?" Sam asked gently. She looked up at him, the same fear from before in her eyes. Her fingers moved back to her wedding ring again. She took a step back involuntarily.

"I-I don't know what you mean. What has that got to do with the house?"

The lights flickered.

Dean stepped forward, his frown etched deeply into his forehead. "We don't think it's the house that's haunted. You are."

Another step back. She found herself pressed against the hardwood of the dining table.

"I'm not possessed if that's what you're implying!"

"We're not. It's a ghost, Georgia – not a demon. Why is a ghost following you?" Sam pressed. He ignored the lights that flickered more sporadically.

"I-I don't know…" Georgia whimpered. A door in the hall banged. She jumped. Dean lunged forward, grabbing her arm, forcing her to look up at him.

"It's your sister isn't it? Isn't it!" Dean prompted, giving her a small shake when she shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "We looked into your family records – your sister died three years ago. In the last two, you've never stayed in one place longer than a few months. Why? Why is your sister haunting you? What did you do?"

The whole house groaned as a wind suddenly picked up, violently banging the windows open, ripping the billowing curtains up towards the ceiling.

"I never meant…I didn't mean for it to happen!" Georgia wailed, the dam broken. "She killed herself – depression. She was so down all the time that she just couldn't take anymore. She threw herself in front of a train, leaving Ted and the children motherless! I was so…so _angry_ at her and I felt so sorry for her babies..."

"Wait – _Ted?!_ " Sam exclaimed. "Your _husband_ , Ted? You married your sister's husband after she killed herself?"

"They needed me! I didn't mean to fall in love…it just happened" She choked out, staring wildly at the chaos that was erupting around them. The whole bookcase began to shudder.

"If she was hit by a train, there wouldn't be any remains" Dean commented, looking around wildly. "What do you have of hers?!"

"What do you mean?" Georgia sobbed.

"She's anchored to something – something that keeps her near you! It would've been something that meant a lot to her" Sam shouted above the rising din. His head whipped around as a figure burst into view in the corner of the room. Her brown hair was long and matted, falling past sagging shoulders. Her glare was fixated on Georgia who froze, mouth agape in horror. Dean grabbed the shotgun, firing a round of rock salt into the ghost, forcing her to dissipate. "Georgia, think! What do you have?" Sam repeated, shaking her by the shoulders. She looked at him and then down at her hands.

Her wedding ring.

Sam followed her gaze and grabbed her ring, wrenching it off of her finger as Dean fired again. Sam flung it in the fireplace – straight into the roaring embers. He grabbed the bottle of accelerant from the duffel bag, spraying it onto the fire which roared higher. He shielded his face from the heat, turning as a piercing scream filled the air. Turning, he watched as Georgia's sister stood still, the flames licking up her torso as she disintegrated.

The wind died immediately, leaving the whole house quiet. Dean turned to Georgia.

"Her wedding ring, seriously? You couldn't have got your own?!"

 **oOo**

Sam's eyes snapped open as Dean brought the Impala to a halt outside the Arrow Motel. The stark white building glowed dimly in the yellow streetlights.

"You must've really been tired; you went out like a light. Wasn't even a long drive" Dean remarked, yawning as he got out of the car. Sam shrugged.

"It's been a long day." He led the way to their room, opening the door and turning on the light. It was their usual type of motel; frayed around the edges, smelling of age. He walked to the cooler they'd put in the small kitchenette, grabbing two beers as Dean walked into the bathroom. Twisting the lids off both, he glanced at the closed door of the bathroom.

Dean emerged as Sam shoved something back into his pocket. The younger Winchester turned and held out one of the bottles for him.

"Thanks." Dean took a long mouthful, taking a seat at the table. Sam sat opposite him. He grimaced slightly, looking at his beer. "Your beer taste funny?"

Sam took a swig. "Not really. It's a bit warm."

"Can I make one thing clear?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "If I ever do get married and then die, you are NOT allowed to shack up with my would-be wife."

"Dude, like I'd want your seconds" Sam grimaced, shaking his head. Dean took another long drink, studying his brother closely.

"So you held it together pretty well back there."

Sam shrugged. "It was an easy case. It's not like I'm going to fall apart every five minutes, Dean. I didn't have any interference from Lucifer either. He's been quite quiet since this afternoon."

"Well that's progress, I guess" Dean yawned loudly. Sam finished his beer, heading to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he studied his face. A light sheen of sweat still coated his face and his colour was high. He was surprised Dean hadn't commented on it. Maybe he'd just chalked it up to all the exercise he'd been doing.

He spent a few minutes cleaning up, giving Dean time to finish his beer. By the time he entered the main room again, Dean was lazily kicking his boots off.

"You going to bed?" Sam asked, watching him.

"Hey, like you said - it's been a long day" he mumbled, pulling the covers back and crawling under. Sam mimicked his behaviour, turning out the light between them.

He waited.

After a few minutes, Dean's breathing evened out, becoming long and relaxed. He waited a few more minutes. Made a show of dropping his phone on the floor with a thud. No response from the other bed. Satisfied, Sam sat up, pulling his boots back on.

It was time to hunt.

 **oOo**

 **Please review if you have the time :)**


	4. Just Beneath the Skin

Thank you to my followers and reviewers – you make it worth it! I'm taking a bit of artistic licencing in this chapter; cue the cross into S11. Keeping the essence, but changing the facts!

 **oOo**

 **Pipestone, Minnesota**

The first thing Sam was aware of was the smack of something soft whacking him fully in the face. He lurched upright, hair sticking out at seemingly impossible angles, the offending pillow falling into his lap. He looked groggily at Dean who sat grinning on his bed, tying his bootlace.

"You plannin' on sleeping all day, Sammy? Get your ass outta bed already!" He remarked. Sam groaned, pulling the covers over his head; he disliked Chipper-Morning-Dean and his ability to be wide awake from the get go. "C'mon, there's a diner down the road and I'm starving – shift your ass!" Edging the covers back down, Sam peeked out at his brother who was busy stuffing clothes back into his duffel bag.

 _How am I this tired?_

 **oOo**

Lange's Café was a small, homely diner that bustled quietly with the gentle hum of its morning customers. Many locals sat at the circular stools pressed against the counter, their feet resting on the polished silver foot bar that ran parallel to the counter, knees pressed solidly against the miniature blue tiles that decorated the side of the work top. The booths were cosy with plump maroon cushions that had started to sag with age and strips of floral padding running across the top of the vertical cushions. A huge chilled display case dominated the space next to the counter, its surface gleaming. Inside stood one of the largest arrays of homemade pies Sam had ever seen. He chuckled drily to himself; every few seconds, Dean would glance at the case, longing evident in his eyes despite the bacon he was shovelling into his mouth. Clearly, there would be a pie-run before they left.

"Do you and the pie need a room?" He quipped, smiling as he sipped his coffee. Dean eased his eyes back in his direction, sighing in contentment.

"Later," Dean affirmed, making Sam laugh. "Seriously man, this is the best breakfast I've had in months; how is it you only wanted coffee?"

"I'm just not hungry this morning" Sam answered, letting the bitter coffee wash over his tongue. Truth be told, he felt _full._ Not your average kind of full either; it was almost Christmas-Day-full where you stuffed yourself so full of food and drink that you felt…sloshy. The continuous waft of Dean's breakfast was actually starting to make him nauseous.

Dean opened his mouth to reply but closed it when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it from his jeans and looked at the caller ID. Frowned.

"What do you want?" He barked, staring at Sam who frowned in confusion. "…Pipestone, why? We could be back in an hour…fine. We'll be there."

"Who was that?"

"Crowley. Says he's got an update on the whole Amara thing for us. Wants to meet at Bobby's" Dean explained, finishing the last bite of his eggs.

"Let's go then" Sam replied, downing the last of his drink. Dean grunted and shook his head. He pointed at the counter.

"First – pie!"

 **oOo**

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"Darling! It's been a while" Crowley exclaimed, grinning broadly at Dean. He stood with his hands rooted in the pockets of his black coat, his whole demeanour relaxed and confident.

"Not long enough, apparently" Dean rolled his eyes. Crowley smiled and shifted his gaze to Sam who glowered at him from the kitchen doorway.

"Moose! Still crazy I presume?"

Before Sam could reply, Bobby cut in. "What is it you want, Crowley?" He leaned against his desk, folding over the corners of a few manuscripts and papers that he'd haphazardly left on it.

"Always down to business so quickly, Bobby; you're no fun" Crowley sighed dramatically – always the wounded party. "I've been doing some digging into our little Darkness issue. Lots of whispers running around the monster circuit, you see. Some were complete tripe, but others had a little more fact than fiction."

"What's your point Crowley?" Dean asked, crossing his arms. Sometimes the demon's roundabout way of getting to a point was just plain aggravating.

"Well it turns out that there were a lot of rumours involving Lucifer," Crowley explained, looking at Sam who shifted uneasily. "Apparently he was there the last time Amara was around. In fact, he claims he was the one that chucked her in her box the first time." His eyes stayed fixed on Sam.

"What do you mean 'he claims'?" Bobby stared, incredulous.

Crowley smiled and spread his hands. "When you're the King of Hell, you get the all access pass – including nifty little spells that let have some limited FaceTime with those in the cage. He says hi by the way."

"Get. To. Your. Point." Dean growled, stepping forward. He watched Sam pale out of the corner of his eye, his throat working furiously.

"Hold your fire, Dean; I'm getting there."

"Doesn't seem like it" Bobby said acidly.

"The long and short of it is that he claims he's the only one that can stop her again. Clearly his fishing to come topside again – which none of us want, I hasten to add. I quite like how I've got Hell now, thank you very much. I would, however, try to find out why he thinks he's special if I were you. Ducky might be able to help you with that."

"That's it?" Dean asked.

"That's it" Crowley shrugged, waltzing past him. He kept his eyes locked on Sam's, his back to Dean and Bobby. "I did what you asked; now do your bit" he murmured, low enough that only Sam heard. The younger Winchester looked at him in confusion. Crowley spun on his heel and smiled at Dean. "Got to run; try not to miss me too much." With that, he was gone.

A searing pained blast through Sam's mind, making him gasp and clutch his head with one hand. White lights danced behind his eyelids. He felt hands on his shoulders, heard Dean's voice calling his name; it sounded like he was in a fish bowl. The pain subsided as quickly as it had come.

"Sam? Are you ok?" Dean asked, his eyes full of concern. Sam nodded. "What did Crowley say to you?" Sam stared blankly at him.

"What? He didn't say anything" Sam replied, puzzled. Dean frowned.

"It looked like he said something to you."

Sam shook his head. "No – he just turned around and said he had to run." Dean searched his face, looking for any sign of deception. He saw none. Yet he'd heard Crowley's deep baritone rumble and clocked Sam's expression just before the demon left; he just didn't hear what he said. Why would Sam lie?

"Please tell me you haven't done anything stupid involving Crowley" Dean responded, not convinced.

"I don't even know what you're talking about!" Sam glowered. His hands were balled into fists, nails digging in almost painfully. Bobby stepped between the two of them – his hands held up peacefully. Sam continued to glare defensively over his head.

"Alright enough. If he said Crowley didn't say anythin' then he didn't," Bobby interjected. Dean scowled and moved back into the living room, plonking himself down on the sofa. A sudden wave of nausea swept over Sam, forcing him to cover his mouth with his hand and race for the bathroom. "Sam?! You alright, lad?" Bobby shouted after him, alarmed. He glanced at Dean who looked as surprised as he did. They heard the younger Winchester retching.

"He looked a bit green this morning but I didn't think anything of it," Dean admitted, pushing himself off the couch. He padded down the hall to the bathroom, pushing open the door to find Sam slumped over the toilet, heaving pitifully, forehead resting against his arm which was draped over the seat. His body convulsed painfully but, since he's missed breakfast, he brought up nothing but bile after his coffee. Dean crouched down next to him, rubbing his back in slow circles.

Sam tilted his face to the side, raising his eyes to look at the person behind him. Lucifer grinned down at him. Sam groaned and feebly tried to push his arm away.

"Get it all up" Dean said soothingly, but all Sam heard was Lucifer's voice. He moaned, pushing himself up and away from the hand on his back. He staggered to the sink, rinsing out his mouth with water. He looked balefully at Lucifer who stood smirking behind him. "What's wrong?" Dean asked, unable to comprehend the look Sam was giving him in the mirror. He stepped forward, raising a hand to reach for his little brother's forehead.

"Stay away from me!" Sam shouted, his eyes focused on Lucifer's maniacal grin as he approached. He tried to bat aside the hand that came towards him, focusing on the knife in the clenched fist.

Startled, Dean winced as Sam's hand smacked into his forearm, his unfocused eyes fixated on Dean's hand. His brother went on the offensive, throwing punches wildly at him. Realising that Sam was caught in the middle of a hallucination, Dean grappled with him, trying to stop his flailing arms, grunting when some of the punches connected.

"Sam! Sam, stop! It's me! Stop!" He shouted, managing to grab hold of both of Sam's wrists. He pressed his thumb into Sam's palm, watching Sam wince as he dug it in.

Lucifer flickered and shimmered as the pain in his hand grew. He disappeared; Dean standing in his place. Dean's hands wrapped around his wrists. Dean's concerned eyes fixed on him.

"Dean." Sam's eyes finally focused on his, horrified. The tension fell away from his shoulders, his arms relaxing. "I don't…I don't feel…" Before he could finish, Sam's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward into his brother. Caught off guard, Dean nearly dropped under the sudden weight. Placing a hand against Sam's forehead, Dean winced. He was on fire.

"Bobby?! A little help!"

 **oOo**

Dusk fell slowly, draping the scrapyard in a blanket of shadows. It eased over the house like a blanket, wrapping it in a comforting darkness. The windows glowed a soft orange, spilling their light out onto the gravel beyond. Inside, the fire crackled gently in the living room, sending flickering darts of light across the floor. Dean sat, his face half enveloped in the light, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his cupped hands. His chair was aligned with the faded red couch; Sam's broad form balled up on it beneath a blanket. He was shivering profusely, knees drawn up to his chest in a foetal position. He clutched the blanket up under his chin even though his brow was dowsed in sweat, strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Every now and then a soft moan escaped his lips but his eyes remained firmly shut.

"So until this afternoon, you thought his facetime with Lucifer was gettin' less? Like his hallucinations were gettin' better?" Bobby asked softly, watching Dean from behind his desk. He sipped his whisky slowly, letting the spirit roll over his tongue. Dean glanced at him, but his eyes quickly returned to Sam's prone form.

"I hadn't seen him touch his gimp hand for a while; I knew when he was tryin' to get rid of somethin' cause he'd press it like I showed him. I dunno, Bobby. I dunno how much he really sees and how much he can cope with. What if this never goes away?"

Bobby lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, sadness tugging the corners of his mouth down. "Then we deal as best we can. Look, we can't do anythin' for him now – I'm goin' t'bed."

"I'm gonna stay" Dean murmured, keeping his eyes on Sam. Bobby nodded, patting him on the shoulder as he ambled past.

 **oOo**

The fire had died, leaving tiny glimmers of embers chewing slowly on the blackened logs left in the hearth. The living room was bathed in the star light that streamed in through the window, changing the warm red and yellows to eerie blues and blacks. Dean sat sprawled in the hard wooden chair he had been in all night; his long legs stretched out in front of him. His chin rested softly against his chest which rose and fell rhythmically as he slept.

In the darkness, Sam watched.

He had stayed in the same position for half an hour, controlling his own breathing so that he sounded asleep. His eyes glinted in the darkness as he studied Dean carefully. The older Winchester hadn't moved for a while. Pushing back the blanket and standing silently, Sam edged his way around Dean, grabbing his jacket and shoes without a sound. Keeping his ears tuned for any signs of Dean's waking, he snuck over to the back door. Turned the latch, waiting for the click it would make. He waited. No noise from Dean.

Easing the door open, Sam slipped out into the night.

 **oOo**

 **Please review!**


	5. It Comes Awake

The first thing he noticed was a soft tickling on his nose. He lifted a hand, rubbing his nose to dispel the annoying sensation. His hand cast a defined shadow across the light that was penetrating his eyelids. The living room shouldn't be this bright. When did the sofa get so hard?

Blinking blearily, Sam eased his eyes open, sitting up frantically, his hair flying as he whipped his head around. Gravel scraped against his palms as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking around wildly. Long strands of grass swayed lazily in the wind, brushing against his cheek. The gravel road he was lying on split four ways; the surface broken with weeds growing between the sharp rocks. Sam looked down at himself; he was still wearing the same faded blue shirt and jeans he had been wearing the day before. He jumped when he felt a vibration in his right pocket. Fumbling, he pulled his phone out, checking the caller ID. Dean.

"Dean?"

" _Sammy?! Where the hell are you? I've been calling you for a half hour!"_ Dean shouted down the phone, his voice thick with anger and concern.

"I-I don't know. I'm in the middle of nowhere" Sam replied, looking around to get his bearings. "I don't even know how I got here."

 _"Turn your phone's GPS on; I'll come find you."_ He hung up abruptly, leaving Sam staring at his phone. What the hell was going on? Annoyance flared through him at Dean's brusque response; it wasn't like he had chosen to wake up in the middle of nowhere. He flicked through his phone's setting, turning on the GPS as per instructed. Pushing himself up, he looked around. There was nothing but flat waves of rippling grass for miles in every direction. How had he even got there?

He started walking down the road, heading over the crossroads. He had no idea how long Dean would be and just sitting still like some damsel in distress wasn't ever going to be an option. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled despite the warm sun overhead. He stopped, looking around.

Nothing was there.

 **oOo**

The growl of the Impala was the first signal that Dean was close. Sam had been walking for well over hour yet he had seen no other road users at all. He stopped, relieved, as the Impala sped towards him, dust flecking the black sides of the car. Dean rolled to a stop beside him, the familiar popping of the engine's idle relaxing the tension out of Sam's shoulders. He slid into the passenger seat, leaning back heavily against the seat.

"What the hell, man?" Dean barked, his voice tight and raised, glare fixed on Sam. "You sneak off in the middle of the night; you don't leave a note and you just pop up in the middle of nowhere! Seriously, what is goin' on with you?!"

Sam fought to keep his voice calm; Dean had a right to be angry. "I honestly don't know. I'm not kidding. I have no idea where 'here' even is."

"We're just outside of Storm Lake."

"In _Iowa_?" Sam exclaimed, astonished. He watched the anger cool in Dean's eyes. It stung that his brother had assumed he was lying, but, given their history, Sam could hardly be surprised.

"Did Lucifer lead you here? Did he make you think you were with me again?" Dean asked more softly, facing forward as he started the Impala moving again. Sam shook his head.

"No. I don't think so."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam chewed his lower lip, his eyes becoming unfocused as he thought back. "Feeling awful and puking in the bathroom. I thought you were Lucifer and then it was you…I don't remember anything after that."

"How do you feel now?" Dean asked gruffly, worry lines appearing when he frowned.

"Fine," Sam replied, shrugging. "I don't understand it." He looked at the road ahead, something nagging at his mind. "Why aren't we turning round? Bobby's is the other way, right?"

"We're not going back to Bobby's. I found us a case." Dean cast a sideways look at Sam, his face expressionless. "Unless you think you need to go back?"

"No – I'm fine. Just surprised you picked up a case that quick" Sam murmured, suppressing the twinge of unease in his gut. "What're we dealing with?"

"Missing truckers in Dodge City. Three of 'em. Spoke to the morgue – one's turned up. Figured we'd go look at the body – see what we're dealing with." Dean explained, turning the Impala onto the I-80. He motioned to the backseat. Sam turned and glimpsed his laptop perched between their bags. "It's gonna be a long ride; see what you can dig up."

 **oOo**

 **Dodge City, Kansas**

By the time they arrive at Dodge City, it was nearly 6pm. People lined the streets, hurrying home from work. The steps up to the coroner's offices were vacant, except for one man yelling into his phone, clearly annoyed at someone for missing a deadline. Sam followed behind Dean, readjusting his tie as they entered the building. The reception room was spacious and ordered with blue chairs nestled off to one side of the large desk that dominated the wall directly ahead of them. A single door sat to the left, a passcode system flashing idly. The woman at the desk smiled brightly as the boys pulled out their FBI badges; Dean informing her that they were there to see the missing trucker.

As they spoke, Sam felt the uneasiness from earlier creeping into his veins. He looked at the people sat in the chairs; a woman was sat scrolling idly through her phone while the man next to her was hidden behind a newspaper. All Sam could see was the top of his head, brown hair flopping forward, and his crossed legs below the newspaper's ridiculously large pages.

"This way, agents." Sam was startled from his scrutiny as a technician appeared, beckoning him and Dean through the door to the left of the reception desk. They twisted through the long corridors, passing multiple offices and people in either suits or lab coats.

The lights glared down on them, reflecting off of the steel doors lining one of the walls of the morgue. The polished white tiles enhanced the lighting so that it was almost painfully bright. The sterile environment could never truly eliminate the faint smell of death that lingered in every one Sam had been in. By now, he should be used to it; he wasn't. He breathed lightly through his mouth as the technician hauled open the drawer containing their victim. He pulled back the white sheeting, revealing the gruesome Y incision that contrasted grotesquely with the pale skin surrounding it.

"Matthew Havlena," the technician said, reading off of the flipchart in his hand. "Found in a ditch off the interstate."

"Cause of death?" Dean asked, leaning forward to inspect the body.

"Missing five pints of blood can't have helped," the technician replied sardonically. He pointed at the corpse's thighs and neck with his pen. Deep holes littered the skin, open and raw. "Puncture wounds in the femoral arteries and carotid."

"So, what? Some kind of animal attack?" Dean interjected.

"Or a vampire?" Both Sam and Dean turned and fixed their gazes on the smirking technician. His expression withered under the boys' icy stares. "Huh. That…usually gets at least a chuckle." He passed the flipchart to Sam and walked away, grumbling about feds and their lack of humour. Dean frowned, looking intently at the wounds on the victim's neck.

"What do you think? Could he be right?" He asked, straightening up. Sam looked up from the flipchart, noting the positioning of the bites.

"I don't think so. Look at the bite marks; they aren't regular or in line. Vampires have what – a minimum of eight teeth on each row? There aren't enough punctures on his neck for that" Sam said quietly, still conscious of the technician loitering behind them. Dean flipped the sheet back over the corpse, placing the flip chart on top.

"Let's go see what the research says" Dean said, walking back towards the door.

Outside, the pedestrian traffic had started to die down, creating a more leisurely pace compared to the chaos from earlier. Dean hopped down the steps towards the Impala, leaving Sam standing at the top of the stairs. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling again. He scanned the street suspiciously, eyes falling on a figure stood across the road from him. He was far off – too far to make out his features – but Sam was sure that he was staring directly at him. Sam started forward, eyes fixed on the man. It couldn't be-?

"Sam! You coming?" Dean hollered, drawing Sam's gaze to him. When Sam looked up again, the man was gone. There was something weird going on; Sam just couldn't place his finger on it. Shaking his head, he climbed into the Impala.

"You losing it again?" Dean asked. Sam flinched at the lack of compassion in his voice.

"No. I just thought I saw…"

"Lucifer?"

"No…someone I thought I recognised," Sam explained quietly. He rubbed his hands together slowly. "I haven't seen Lucifer since before I passed out."

"Good. We could do without you going off the deep end." Sam glanced sideways at his brother, frowning. He knew Dean was getting frustrated with him, but he wasn't usually so…cold about it.

 **oOo**

"Ok I think I got something," Dean said triumphantly, flicking between pages in John Winchester's journal. The pages were yellowed and battered, but had continued to provide a wealth of information. Sam looked over the top of his laptop at Dean. They were both sat at the table in their pokey motel room, ties off, shirts untucked, top buttons loose. "A vetala. Dad took one down back in the day – used a silver knife to the heart; one twist and they're done. He says they're maladjusted loner types: like to knock a guy out, drag him home and feed slow. They sound delightful."

A vision flashed through Sam's head – a single image of a drawing stuck to a page. It looked tribal with a snake wrapped around a dancing figure, the word 'vetala' written across the top in calligraphic script.

"Let me see that" he ordered, motioning with his hand. Dean passed him the journal. Sure enough, there was the same drawing staring back at him. "That's not right."

"I know, right? Guy thinks he's gonna get some and bang! He's snake food."

"That's not what I meant," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Dad said they're loners; they're not. They hunt in pairs – one to lure in their prey, the other to incapacitate them."

"How do you know that? We've never come across one of these things" Dean asked, confusion flickering through his eyes.

"I just…do. Look, why don't we head to that truck stop the last vic was seen at and ask around? If they are vetala, I doubt they've moved on yet."

 **oOo**

The Wheel On Inn was a typical trucker's stop. The parking lot was lined with rows of trucks parked with narrow alleys between them, creating a rabbit warren of hiding places. The single storey building squatted amongst the menagerie of vehicles. Inside, its walled were clad with wooden panelling that was scratched and worn, despite the owner's attempts to polish them back to life. A yellow lager sign shone brightly over the top of the bar; its shelves lined with numerous bottles of liquor, many of which were half empty. AC/DC played quietly in the background, barely audible amidst the murmured conversations that sparked from the inn's multiple patrons.

Sam entered alone, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He had swapped his suit for a flannel shirt and jeans, wanting to blend in rather than put the truckers on edge. A pretty blonde waitress was busy clearing one of the central tables as he entered. She smiled at him invitingly. Recognition flashed through his mind, momentarily stopping him. She looked so familiar. He shook his head. How on earth could he possibly know her?

"Hi! What can I get you?" she asked, tucking her short hair behind one ear. Sam smiled at her warmly and pulled out a picture of Matthew Havlena that he had printed from his Facebook page before coming to the truck stop.

"You ever seen this man?" he asked, watching her face carefully. She leaned in to study the picture, her neat eyebrows furrowed as she concentrated.

"I might have served him the other week" she replied, half shrugging. She looked around, spotting her manager a few feet away, chatting with another customer. She leaned in, lowering her voice. "I think he might have gone to… _talk_ to that girl out there." She nodded towards the window. Sam turned and followed her gaze to a tall brunette who was sauntering towards the door, her focus on her phone. She wore a short denim skirt, revealing incredibly long legs and a baby blue top that was cropped at her middle. Oversized bracelets hung loosely off of her wrists.

"Thanks" Sam muttered, walking out towards the door. The cool night air ruffled his hair as he exited the Wheel On Inn. "Hey!" he called, startling the girl who turned frightened eyes up to him. "Can I talk to you for a moment, uh…" He spied the golden necklace with her name around her neck. "…Sally?" Another flash of recognition passed through him. This was starting to feel more and more like déjà vu. He held up the picture of Matthew again. "You ever seen this man?" She shifted from foot to foot, averting her eyes as she shook her head. "You sure?" Sam pressed further, suspicious of her behaviour. She smiled at him nervously.

"It's not safe here" she murmured, motioning for him to follow. He trailed along behind her, glancing briefly to his left to see Dean prowling between two trucks parallel to him. Sally led him further into the warren of alleys, stopping between two vacant trucks. She still glanced around nervously as she stopped and turned to face him. "Something's going on around here. I'm afraid I'll be next" she confessed quietly, biting her lip.

"Tell me what you saw" he urged. Something was off; why would she be afraid? All the victims were men.

"I don't know what I saw!" she cried, her eyes moving past Sam. He drew his knife on instinct and whirled around just as the waitress lunged towards him. He slashed at her with his knife, but she grabbed his wrist with one hand, his neck with the other, slamming him back into the truck with a loud thud.

"Dean!" He gasped, grappling with at the hand around his throat. It wouldn't budge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sally approach, gasped as a foot connected with the back of his knees, dropping him to the ground. She leaned in, fangs bared, aiming for his neck. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain he knew was coming.

It never did.

Instead, Sally screeched horrifically, her expression full of surprise. Dean towered over her, his arm jerking as he twisted the knife in her back.

"No!" the waitress shrieked, her grasp on Sam's wrist loosening minutely. He wrenched his hand free, using the distraction to plunge his knife into her heart. Twisted. She convulsed, falling to the floor. Dean pulled him up, his eyes searching Sam for signs of injury.

"I guess they do hunt in pairs" he remarked. Sam gave a dry chuckle, rubbing his neck. The feeling that something was wrong surged over him again. Disjointed images flashed through his mind: a young girl telling him he wouldn't come back, a hunter tied to a chair, Sally stood over him preparing to bite his neck.

"This isn't right. It's not what happened" he muttered. A movement to his right caught his eye. He frowned, gripping his knife tightly. The figure withdrew into the shadows behind the truck. "Hey!" Sam shouted, sprinting in that direction. He vaguely heard his brother calling his name but he refused to stop. The uneasiness that had grown in him all day was spiking and the person in the shadows had something to do with it. He raced between the trucks, blood pumping, breath escaping in ragged gasps as he gave chase to the figure that always seems to be just out of sight.

He emerged from between the trucks, the Wheel On Inn before him. The figure ran to the side, heading towards the inn's motel section. Sam upped his pace. Saw the figure disappear through the first door in the row of motel rooms. Sam leapt up the stairs onto the wooden decking. He shouldered his way in through the door, splintering the wood with a loud crack.

And stopped.

The door swung shut behind him with a loud metal clang. His brain registered the solid iron walls, the cabinet full of guns, the single metal cot pushed up against the wall. He recognised the devil's trap that was scratched into the floor. His brain registered it all, but couldn't fathom the figure before him.

Sam stood, mouth agape, eyes fixed on himself.

"Long time no see, Sam."

 **oOo**

 **The vetala episode is Adventures in Babysitting if you were pondering which case I 'borrowed' for this. Please review!**


	6. In My Body

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean woke, stiff and cold. There was a dull throbbing in his back where the hard wood of the chair had dug into his shoulder blades. His coccyx had gone numb and his knees cracked when he stretched out his long legs. Raising his head, he blinked slowly, looking at the empty couch in front of him.

The empty…

"Sam!" He bolted upright, looking around wildly, heart hammering. It slowed the second Sam's head poked around the doorway of the kitchen, a piece of toast in one hand, his cheeks bulging slightly as he chewed.

"Yeah?" he asked, swallowing his mouthful. Dean looked from his little brother to the couch and back again. Memories of the previous night – of Sam tossing and shivering fitfully, drenched in sweat – were at the forefront of his mind. He rose quickly, stepping towards Sam who looked at him, bemused.

Dean didn't respond; instead he pressed the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, his eyes scrutinising his brother's face carefully. His skin felt warm but not boiling and his eyes were clear and focused. The younger Winchester looked rested and relaxed; his hair tucked behind his ears, no trace of his fever anywhere on his face. Sam gently pushed Dean's hand away.

"I'm fine, Dean. Honestly" he smirked, munching on his toast again. He walked over to the coffee pot in the kitchen, pouring a second mug and handing it to Dean who continued to stare at him suspiciously.

"You're absolutely sure? You looked like you were knocking on Death's door last night."

Sam nodded. "Positive. I'm starving, but other than that – fit as ever."

"Any more visions?" Dean prodded, still not satisfied.

"Nope. It's been quiet – nice. I woke up feeling more myself than I have in ages," Sam confessed, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. Dean opened his mouth to respond but Sam interrupted him. "So, anyway," he started, abruptly changing the conversation, "I was thinking about what Crowley said; we should contact Cas – see what he knows about Lucifer and Amara. The sooner we talk to him, the sooner we can start getting a plan together. No point just sitting on information when we could actually be using it. Who knows? We might even get ahead of the game for once."

"Uh, yeah, sure" Dean agreed, sipping at his coffee. Only Sam could go from a feverish stupor to bouncing like Tigger the next day, every piston apparently firing on all cylinders. If that was his way of dealing with the crazy, that was fine by Dean. "Where's Bobby?"

"Oh, he said he had to run errands. He'll be back later" Sam replied, shrugging. "He muttered about us drinking him out of house and home."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Figures. Right." He put his coffee mug down, rubbing his hands together and closing his eyes. "Castiel, if you've got your ears on, we need to talk. Crowley got some info from Lucifer and we…"

"Hello, Dean." Castiel's deep baritone resonated from behind Dean, making him jump.

"Dude, how many times?! Don't just sneak up on people!" Dean exclaimed, turning and glaring at the angel. Cas looked at him, surprised.

"I said hello. You said to do that rather than just respond to what you were saying. Plus, it's almost logistically impossible not to 'sneak up' on someone who has their eyes closed." Dean opened his mouth to respond but words failed him. The angel's logic was fair. "What do you mean 'Crowley got some information from Lucifer'?"

The angel listened intently, a frown scrunching his brow as Dean relayed the information that Crowley had given them the day before. His hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers just touching the folds of his trench coat. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed on Dean as he spoke. Sam stayed silent throughout, his arms folded across his chest as he perched on the edge of the kitchen table.

"So we don't really know what to make of it" Dean finished. Cas had continued to stare at him intently throughout his entire account; he was still mastering the fine tunings of 'people skills'. Clearly Dean's admonishments about his prolonged eye contact hadn't caught on yet. However, his gaze slipped away from Dean's face now, moving briefly to Sam, taking on a pensive quality.

"Lucifer was always…unique, even among the arch angels. I cannot say for certain why he would think that he is the only one who can stop Amara. Having said that, he and Michael are the only arch angels left. Perhaps it has something to do with that."

"I thought arch angels were pretty much the same as normal angels?" Sam questioned, his brows furrowed.

"Theoretically they are. They were the first of us but, if you mean biologically speaking, they are the same. However, they are more powerful," Cas explained. He turned back to Dean. "I will inquire with those who keep the Angel Lore; they should have records of Amara's initial containment. I would urge caution until I get back."

"Caution as in avoid goin' and lookin' for her?" Dean clarified. Castiel nodded.

"Until we know what Lucifer means, there is no point in engaging in a conflict with her. I am sure there are many other cases you could work while I investigate Lucifer's meaning." Dean rolled his eyes; Castiel never meant to be condescending – it just…happened. Before he could say anything else, a brief fluttering sounded and Castiel was gone. Dean huffed.

"Bye then!" he shouted, looking up at the ceiling. "Damn angel…" He turned to Sam who was already on his laptop, spinning the screen to face Dean. A news article glared up at him.

"If Cas says there's nothing more we can do, we may as well do what he says: work" Sam remarked. He moved across the room, grabbing his rucksack and scribbling a hasty note to Bobby.

"You were busy this mornin' while I was sleepin'" Dean stated. The entire morning seemed to have taken on a frantic pace that he was barely clinging onto. It felt…weird. Sam grinned at him as he stuffed his laptop in his bag, throwing the keys to the Impala at Dean.

"Oh, you have no idea." He grabbed his jacket. "Let's go."

 **oOo**

 **This chapter is a sort of parallel timeline to chapter 5 but it will become a bit clearer in chapter 7 :)**


	7. In My Head

**As always, a massive thank you to everyone who reads; I hope you're enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I was originally going to do this and what is now chapter 8 as one but kinda liked this as a separate entity. Enjoy!**

 **oOo**

There are some things in life you just can't wrap your head around, no matter how much you try. Simple things like how pineapples grow on the ground instead of in trees like other fruit or why the fear of long words is 35 letters long. Why must people insist on touching wet paint when the sign says not to? They may be simple, but they still force you to pause. To stop and think.

What Sam was facing was far from simple.

His chest was still heaving from the exertion of his sprint and the rising panic that was trying to claw its way up his throat. It just wasn't _possible._ Considering he and Dean dealt with the impossible, this was taking the biscuit. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from him own face.

 _His own face._

The one that was currently smirking at him, clearly enjoying his confusion. He wore a faded black t shirt that was stretch taut over his muscular chest, his jeans hanging snugly off of his hips. He was leaning casually against the iron wall, arms folded over his chest. Pushing away from the structure, he circled Sam who snapped his head around to watch him prowl. He had never felt truly like prey until that moment.

"I don't…What-" he stammered, flinching when the other Sam leaned into him.

"Of course you don't. You're still the same mollycoddled brat you were the last time I saw you" he spat. The smirk never left his lips.

"This isn't possible."

"You said that last time. Strike one!"

Sam's brow furrowed as he searched his memories, thinking back to a time when this had happened before. He found the memory, lifting his gaze to the other Sam when recognition hit.

"I was asleep then. This still can't be possible" he insisted, his brain beginning to register his surroundings. "Unless…"

"Unless this isn't the real world? Bingo!" the other Sam finished for him, pulling up a chair and sitting in it, still facing Sam. "We're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Welcome to the deep parts of your – _our_ – mind." He leaned back in the chair. Everything about his exuded calm and confidence; the complete opposite of Sam's current state.

"I _killed_ you or absorbed you or whatever that was! We shouldn't be separate anymore" Sam exclaimed as he looked around, surveying his surroundings. He walked over to the walls, running his fingers along them, felt the rough texture of the iron surface scratching against his fingertips. He kept his double within eyesight but didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing his own true panic.

"Well, technically, yes. Problem is, you may have put Humpty Dumpty back together again, but you've been far from fine for months. We were never going to be right after that wall came down. It's just been unfortunate that I've had to wait this long."

"What do you mean, 'wait this long'?"

"Where do you think your hallucinations came from? They aren't Lucifer's doing; he's in the cage. I discovered early just how messed up you became, how they made you weaker than you were already. The more you gave in to 'Lucifer', the stronger I got; the more intense I made them, the easier it was for me. My yang to your yin. The last few days were the final bits of prep. Now I'm steering the ship again" the second Sam explained nonchalantly, his predatory gaze following Sam as he moved around the room.

Sam stopped, startled. "Wait…I'm not asleep right now?"

"No. You're on an extended vacation while I use our meatsuit." This couldn't be happening! How the hell hadn't he seen this coming? Dean…Dean!

"Dean will know something is wrong!"

"Ha! Do you really believe that? It took him _months_ the last time to figure out something was wrong. You forget – I _am_ you, just not the part you like particularly. There's no reason for him to suspect anything; he already thinks you're a fruit loop" Soulless remarked.

"But why? I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You can't see the big picture in anything; it's quite pathetic really. You're lumbered with that damn soul – you _are_ the soul – and that makes you weak. Useless. I have watched you bump around and blunder your way through case after case for _months,_ " Sam's eyes widened at the ferocity in his double's voice, at the disgust on his face. "You thought hell was torture? Try watching you attempt to do anything useful. It's painful. I was a better hunter that you could ever imagine being: strong, fast, efficient. There was nothing I couldn't do. Then Dean jammed you back down my throat and we were pathetic again. I'd kind of hoped that forcing the hallucinations on you would toughen you up a bit. Guess I was wrong."

"You're the reason why I've been so tired." It wasn't a question.

"I am. Although getting past Dean started becoming a pain in the ass. Luckily, he drinks so much that adding a little 'extra' to his beer usually meant he didn't even notice." Sam was appalled; he had been drugging his own brother? What the hell was his double doing that meant he needed to take such action?

Tension built its way up through Sam, roiling in his gut and mixing with the panic that was tightening within his chest. This couldn't actually be happening. To be body-jacked by the soulless version of yourself? Even in his world, this was a bit much. He steeled his spine, glaring at Soulless.

"So you think you're just going to take charge? You think you can banish me just like that?"

"I don't think anything; I know it. I've already won, Sam. You barely even realised that that entire vetala case was a work of fiction based on your own memories from years ago."

"I knew there was something wrong; I just couldn't work out what it was. Then I kept seeing you."

"Well I had to check that you were contained while I took control again" Soulless shrugged. His lack of empathy was chilling. "I can't have you mucking up my plans."

"And what exactly are those?"

"Oh, Sam, like I'm going to tell you. We know each other better than that. Just know this; what I am doing will clear up the messes you and Dean have made. _I_ will put things right."

"You can't do this. I won't let you" Sam growled, his hands clenching into fists. He yelped in surprise when Soulless slammed him up against the wall, his forearm pressed against Sam's throat. He brought his face within inches of Sam's, eyes focused on his completely as he struggled feebly.

"You stupid little milksop! This is not a negotiation. You do not get a choice. You do not get to pass 'go'. You will do as you're told _if_ and when I find a use for you. Until then, you will stay here where you cannot screw up anything else."

Sam gasped for breath when the arm was suddenly gone from his neck. Soulless had flickered and disappeared, leaving him alone in the panic room. To Sam's dismay, it had altered itself; the walls were exactly the same but the door had vanished. He looked up. Where there should have been a vent, there was nothing. Sam had never been one for suffering from claustrophobia, but then, he had never been stuck in a sealed room before. A whimper escaped his throat as he frantically scrabbled his way around the walls, pawing at them, looking for a gap, a join, _something_.

There was no way out.

 **oOo**

 **To save confusion, Sam will remain 'Sam' but I will refer to Soulless Sam as simply Soulless. Please review – I love to hear your thoughts!**


	8. Scratching on the Walls

_"Welcome to the Panic Room:_

 _it's my dark place._

 _Lock myself away from you_

 _then I can't escape."_

\- _Panic Room, Theory of a Deadman_

 **oOo**

 **Wichita, Kansas**

Soulless' eyes flickered open, staring up at the ceiling where the green glow of the lamp beside his bed glared out. He rose swiftly, unbuttoning his shirt deftly. Dean was out working leads on the case – he was due to call in at some point. Whenever that was. Soulless didn't really give a damn. Most of the signs of the case pointed towards what he was looking for but that wasn't confirmed – yet.

He settled on the floor, his muscles contracting and flexing as he began his repetitions of push ups. Sam had let their body go to ruin; before long he was panting. _He_ would never have let them get so out of shape. How could Sam expect to be even a halfway decent hunter when he was physically incapable? It didn't matter particularly; Sam might not have the drive, but he did. He would see their body return to perfection, to a state where it was useful.

He listened to the echoes of Sam screaming in the recesses of his mind, could feel him scrabbling against the walls of the panic room. He would get used to it.

Reaching his 50th rep, Soulless stopped when his phone buzzed. Dean. He stood up, a sheen of sweat coating his skin lightly. He cleared his throat before answering.

"Hey."

" _Hey,"_ Dean replied, the sounds of traffic rolling behind his voice. _"Do you remember a chain called Plucky Pennywhistle's?"_

Soulless rolled his eyes. Of course; it was where Sam's idiotic clown thing stemmed from. What a pathetic notion to be afraid of.

"Yeah I remember. What about them?"

 _"Ok well I hit a dead end with the whole wishes-gone-wild thing but both kids were at Plucky's on the days the murders happened."_ Dean explained. Soulless huffed inwardly. If it wasn't a wishes thing, it probably wasn't what he was after. Brilliant. _"Look, why don't you go to the local Plucky's and ask about this Billy kid?"_

"Yeah sure. I'll see you back here after" Soulless replied as he hung up, grabbing a towel and heading to the shower. Time to get to work.

 **oOo**

The outside of Plucky Pennywhistle's Magic Menagerie was as garish as he remembered. The outside had the feel of an industrial unit that someone had attempted to make 'fun' by sticking seemingly random colourful banners on it to make it more appealing. The overall effect became one of enforced, industrialised fun; you would enjoy it because you were told to. While Soulless may have pegged Sam's coulrophobia as ridiculous, he did share the general distaste of Plucky's.

The inside wasn't much better: screaming and shrieking children, the same mind-numbing music caught on an eternal loop and workers in painfully bright uniforms with grins welded to their faces milling around greeting him with the same "howdy friend!" line. He stood in front of a wall of children's drawings – placemats covered in square sharks, hexagonal basketballs and untidy colouring.

"Real beauties, huh? We rotate them out once a week." Soulless turned as a woman approached, her uniform more normal that her colleagues; a clean white shirt with a bright yellow bowtie. Her straight ebony hair fell loosely down her back. She smiled, almost apologetically, up at him. He felt his lips turn up briefly.

"Draw your worst fear?"

"Yeah it's some psychologist thing; get the kids to draw what they're scared of and – as if by magic! – Plucky will make it disappear. It's supposed to aid development or something" she shrugged. He thanked her briefly, noting that both drawings create by the victims' children were missing.

He walked away.

 **oOo**

It felt like Sam had screamed himself hoarse hours ago. He had heard nothing since his double had disappeared. The silence was deafening. Maddening. Surely he had to have some sort of control inside? Soulless did…but he'd admitted it had taken months for him to get strong enough to take over. Sam didn't have that kind of time. He remembered everything he'd done when he'd lost his soul; he was logical and precise but also ruthless and apathetic. It was a truly dangerous – psychopathic – combination. Everyone he loved was in danger and they didn't even know.

He jumped when the room was suddenly filled with a deafening voice.

 _"…Getting them to admit to their fears seems logical, but they ruined it with the whole 'Plucky will save you' bit."_ He heard himself say. He sat upright on the cot, concentrating.

 _"So what, the kid draws something and it comes to life and kills their parents? Dude, that's messed up."_ Dean's voice rang clear through his mind. Emotions flew through Sam, overwhelming him; the initial relief that hearing his brother's voice brought, followed by the panicking realisation that Dean was talking to him in a perfectly normal tone. He had no idea what he was talking to.

"Dean! It's not me!" he shouted, standing up, trying to make himself as loud as he could. "C'mon, you know there's something wrong!" The sound of a phone ringing broke up the conversation that continued through his yelling.

 _"That was the manager; we've got another body"_ Soulless stated.

 _"Why does that always happen when we've just got food?"_ Dean grumbled, the sound of a pot being dumped on the table ringing through. Sam could almost see the look his brother would be wearing. The annoyance turning down the corners of his mouth into an almost pout (not that Dean would admit to pouting, ever) and the look of longing for whatever he was about to leave behind.

Sam could imagine it and knew that if Dean was that relaxed, he truly had no idea that there was something wrong. He lowered himself onto the bed again, his head in his hands.

 **oOo**

Their return to Plucky's revealed the next body; the janitor mauled in the ball pit. Dean lifted up the white sheet on the stretcher as the paramedics brought out the body. He grimaced, analysing the wide half circle that stretched across the man's torso, punctured by even spaces. He lowered the sheet and looked at his brother who had finished chatting with the local PD and was walking over to him.

"Shark bite" Dean stated drily. The younger Winchester's eyes fixed on him, not a flicker of surprise in their depths.

"Yeah. Let me guess: 'Shark Week'?"

Dean grinned. "A whole week of sharks, man. What's not to love?"

 **oOo**

The rest of their evening was spent pouring over various books, journals and laptop, scouring for plausible causes of the spate of deaths. Dean took a swig of his beer, running a hand through his hair. Soulless sat opposite him, eyes fixed intently on the page he was reading.

"Tulpa?" Dean suggested. His brother shook his head.

"Killings are too widespread."

"True. Angel?"

"Like the God Squad have that kind of imagination" Soulless sneered. Dean frowned; he wasn't normally so derisive of the angels. "A demon though…they do have that kind of imagination."

"Fair point. Well we know they're getting picked up at Plucky's."

"So we go back tomorrow. I'll question the employees – see what they have to say" Soulless remarked, closing the book he had and standing up.

"What good is that gonna do? They think you're a fed. They won't talk" Dean snorted.

"So I'll play bad cop."

"Ha! You?"

"I think I can handle it," Soulless smirked. "You can watch them after – the one who freaks out will be the one we want." He walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He focused on the mirror, staring until he became unfocused, diving inside.

 **oOo**

Sam glared balefully as Soulless flickered into the panic room, running a hand through his hair.

"God, Dean is hard work. No wonder I ditched him last time."

"He's a lot smarter than you give him credit for" Sam snarled, his hands clenched, fingernails digging in.

"Well he's not pegged anything about us yet, has he?" Soulless smiled, his gaze patronising. "I know what you've heard so you know he doesn't suspect a thing."

Sam could've groaned. He'd hoped the audio had been a slip – a sign that the soulless version of himself didn't have as much control as he thought.

"So if you don't need me, why let me listen in?"

"Because if I do find a use for you, you should probably know what's going on. I've not waited all this time for your incompetence to screw everything up. Think of it as a blessing; better than sitting here in infinite silence, right?"

He flickered and disappeared again, leaving Sam in a fit of hopeless frustration.

 **oOo**

The small back office of Plucky's was dismal; iron grey lockers lined the wall opposite the tiny kitchenette. The sink was piled high with mugs saturated in coffee stains; the employees had to stay perky somehow. It would seem caffeine was the magic ingredient behind Plucky. A small work table sat in the centre of the room, a lion currently perched forlornly in one of the rigid red chairs. Soulless had already interviewed several of the employees, grateful for the lack of need for empathy. Trying to care took so much effort. It wasn't that he enjoyed being 'bad cop' – he didn't _enjoy_ anything – but he knew he was good at it. Much better than Sam would have been. He'd watched the stapled smiles slide off the employees' faces, replaced by terror the more he'd interrogated them. His clipped, vicious tone was enough to scare most of them. The ones who didn't cooperate wilted under the threats that rolled easily off his tongue.

He didn't care; he'd get what he needed whatever the cost.

"Lose the head" he motioned, leaning in over the back of one of the chairs, glaring at the next employee. The lion lifted its ridiculously oversized paws, pulling the grinning dome off. Beneath, the man was young and sweating, his hair plastered to the sides of his face. He looked nervously up at Soulless, his eyes constantly moving from his hardened gaze to his stern mouth and then the wall behind him. "Why'd you do it?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

"I got rights" the lion whimpered, pushing his hair away from his face nervously with his paw. Soulless jerked the chair to the side, throwing it against the wall. The boy flinched.

"No, you don't. I can do whatever I want to you" he snarled, voice low and hard.

"Okay! Okay, I'll talk" the boy cried, his wide eyes staring at the toppled chair. Soulless leaned in. Suddenly he found himself with a face full of mane as the boy threw the gigantic head at him, catching him off guard and scrambling for the door. Son of a-

"DEAN!" Soulless yelled, throwing the head away and giving chase. He barged past a clown that stood in his way, elbowing it into a table. He raced after Dean and the lion, straight out of the employee doors and into the parking lot amidst the bewildered looks of both parents and children. Dean took a flying leap, tackling the boy onto a heap of old tyres. Seems Dean did have some uses after all.

Soulless caught up as the kid yammered on about some meth lab in Butte, his paws raised defensively. Soulless groaned; what he was after wouldn't bother with the drugs industry – it had no need to. He tuned back in as the boy babbled about a sub-basement.

"This place has a sub-basement?!" He barked, glaring down. The boy nodded.

"Door's out back – easy to miss if you don't know it's there. Me and Saul used to hear this weird chanting sometimes – coming up through the vents. We never went down there." Dean helped him up, giving him a lecture in drug use and ball pits. He padded off, looking back nervously at the brothers.

"Sounds more like Hoodoo than demon, don't you think?" Dean remarked, dusting off his knees.

"Yeah." _Shit._

 **oOo**

"It's your lucky day, Sammy." Sam flinched as his double appeared on the cot beside him. "Seems this isn't what I'm looking for."

"What does that even mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

"You don't need to know. But know this: I am watching _everything_ you do and say. If you try to tell Dean anything – and I mean _anything_ – I will rip you out and take over."

Sam opened his mouth to respond when Soulless' fingers poked against his forehead. A blinding flash engulfed him.

 **oOo**

Dean was walking back towards Plucky's when he heard Sam gasp; a loud, ragged intake of breath as if he had just surfaced from a pool. He looked around at his brother, eyebrows furrowed. Sam looked around him in bewilderment, his hands reaching up and running through his hair. Seems crazy hadn't quite left the building.

"Dean?!"

 **OOo**

 **I figured it would be interesting to see how Soulless Sam would react to some of the boys' original cases so I'll be using a mix of canon and fictional cases (hoping no one minds!). Thanks for reading! As always, reviews make my day :)**


	9. Save Me From This

**Ok so I trawled through HUNDREDS of Sam pictures, trying to work out what colour eyes he actually has (SuperWiki says hazel). I have decided he is an eye colour shapeshifter because they can be anything from hazel to green to grey. ARGH. Jared Padalecki, you are perfect but you do not make my life easy ;_; I am therefore going with grey because I am.**

 **oOo**

"Sam, you alright?" Dean called. Sam's eyes snapped to his, pain and relief warring in their depths. It was like he was looking at Dean for the first time in months. Honestly, sometimes Dean wondered whether Sam was really telling him the truth about his hallucinations. There were times when his little brother was completely lucid and other times he just seemed…broken. The fear that was stretched across Sam's face was definitely real though. Dean turned back, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders. Felt the tiniest of trembling beneath his touch. "Sam?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm ok. Sorry just a little…winded. I'm ok" he gasped, locking eyes with the older Winchester. Dean searched the crisp grey of Sam's eyes, confused by the turmoil he saw there. He'd seen that look before – whenever Sam wanted to tell him something. Something Dean usually wouldn't like. He almost groaned in frustration; how much more could possible go wrong?

The door to Plucky's opened, a mother pulling her child along by the wrist. She looked exhausted; the Plucky Smile no longer stuck to her face.

"But mom, my drawing is GONE. I was proud of that one!" the kid shouted, his face contorted in the anger of his tantrum. Dean's ears pricked at the mention of the drawing – he recognised the boy from his surveillance earlier.

"Shit" he murmured as Sam turned to look at the mother and boy.

"What?"

"That kid – if his drawing has gone missin', we're in deep shit," Dean replied, Sam's look questioning. "The kid drew a frickin' robot the size of a house – it shot destructo beams out of its eyes."

"Oh."

"Yeah, big 'oh'! Look – you got after them; I'll find the subbasement" he instructed. He threw the keys to the Impala at Sam as he turned back towards Plucky's. Sam could keep his crazy together until after they'd destroyed a 20ft robot.

 **oOo**

Sam sat in the Impala outside of the mother and boy's house, waiting. Waiting for a 20ft robot. Waiting for the soulless version of himself to overpower him again. Waiting for an answer to form about how he was going to tell Dean. It's not like Soulless would know until he'd said it, right?

 _Wrong, Sammy boy. I know you. I know what you'd say and when you'd be most likely to say it. I AM you, after all. I'm the logical one._

The voice whispered up from the recesses of his mind, sending a icy shiver down his spine. He literally couldn't even think privately. Great. Missing the days when everything was just plain and simple – hunting things, saving people – in his life, Sam got out of the Impala. His gaze was fixed on the house until a movement caught the corner of his eye. He gasped, stopping dead in his tracks, heart catapulting against his ribcage.

A clown.

Scratch that; the most twisted, terrifying clown Sam had ever seen. Luminous green hair sprouted from the sides of its head; white paint was smudged across a face that was contorted into a truly maniacal grin. Rows of cracked, yellowing teeth were bared viciously, a hideous rasping laugh exploding from its mouth. Sam met bloodshot eyes that were wide and bright, fixed intently on him.

 _You have got to be kidding. It's. Just. A. Clown. Get a damn grip._

Suddenly aware that his feet were skittering backwards, Sam turned and ran. He didn't care where – he just needed to get away. Dean always said 99.9% of clowns couldn't hurt him. That clown was clearly in the 0.01%.

 _Coward_ _ **.**_

He ignored the voice, slamming into a dilapidated door of an abandoned warehouse. His fingers fumbled uselessly with the deadbolt, trying to snap it closed. He could hear the clown laughing on the outside. Dragging a metal unit in front of the door, he stumbled backwards away from it.

A giggle echoed behind him. He froze.

His stomach tightened painfully; the urge to vomit overwhelming. Could you puke from fear? Of course you could if you were stuck in a damn warehouse with a clown intent on killing you when you had absolutely no idea with the hell you were really doing and you might as well just –

 _Enough._

Their heart slowed immediately, limbs no longer trembling. Soulless straightened to his full height, towering over the second clown who had appeared behind him as the first squeezed in the door. He stared down at the ridiculous creature – honestly, what the hell was there to be afraid of? Bad dental? Too much make up?

The clowns seemed to sense the change in him; their wailing giggles stopped and their smiles fell. They almost looked confused. Their targets were meant to be petrified – numbed by fear until they couldn't think. This being didn't have a speck of fear in him.

Soulless strode to one of the metal shelves littered with debris thrown there by the owners. He grabbed a long metal bar, its edges jagged and sharp, levelling it at the first clown. Gripping it in both hands, Soulless swung it, catching the clown across the face. Its grin fell completely – it hadn't expected the blow to even hit, let alone leave a mark. Dark blood oozed from the gash left across its cheek. This wasn't how it worked. The victim was supposed to be afraid; their fear preventing them from causing any sort of damage.

A slow, malicious grin spread across Soulless' face, baring his teeth savagely. He swung the bar again, knocking the clown to the ground. He raised the bar, bringing it down again and again on the clown's unprotected skull until it stopped moving. He straightened up again, swivelling on his heel to find the other clown. It was scrambling towards the door, desperately trying to pull the unit out of the way so it could fit through.

Soulless stalked over, tightening his grip on the bar.

Raised it.

The clown exploded in a cloud of glitter, disintegrating into nothing before he had a chance to swing. He glanced over his shoulder at the ground where the other clown had been. Moonlight reflected softly off of the glitter that was strewn across the floor. He threw the bar to one side, wiping stray bits of glitter off his jacket.

"Good thing for you that I need this meatsuit; next time grow a pair and deal with your damn issues" Soulless growled, closing his eyes.

 **oOo**

Sam lay awake that night, staring up at the ceiling. Darkness covered their motel room in a stifling cloak, making Sam feel truly alone. That in itself now seemed a ridiculous notion; he was technically never alone anymore. Everything he did, everything he said, was being watched. Did it count as paranoia when you knew it was happening and it was technically yourself that was doing the watching? What was probably more unnerving was the fact that Soulless had been completely silent since restoring Sam to their body.

As he lay there, Sam thought back through the last few months, trying to look for clues that could've told him this would happen. Clues that would tell him what Soulless was up to. He claimed that what he was doing would 'sort out their messes'; the logical assumption was that he meant Amara. They knew next to nothing about her and even Crowley had produced only the flimsiest of information.

Wait…

Dean had accused Sam of lying about Crowley saying something to him when he was at Bobby's. What if he _had_ said something – just not to Sam? His double had proved resourceful in his ability to make Sam hallucinate; was it possible that he could make him forget things too? What on earth could Soulless be doing dealing with Crowley? The more he tried to contend with the questions he already had, the more new ones popped up. The key was figuring out whatever Soulless' plan was. It was bad enough that he knew Sam wouldn't approve else there would be no need for secrecy.

"I can practically hear your brain workin'" Dean mumbled sleepily from the other bed.

"Cannot" Sam laughed humourlessly.

"Can. You grind your teeth when you're overdoin' it" Dean murmured, his mattress popping and squeaking as he rolled over. "What's goin' on in your head?"

He had to be quick.

"The soul-" Sam coughed, choking on his own words when it felt like a hand was squeezing his own throat. He raised both of his hands to his neck but nothing was there. He gasped desperately, eyes wide.

 _What did I tell you? You will not tell Dean. I knew you'd try at least once so count this as your warning. Next time, I won't be so gentle._

The voice rang lazily through his mind, sounding almost bored. The pressure on his throat eased and he coughed.

"The soul what?" Dean asked, his voice sleepy. He must have thought Sam's coughing fit was a dry throat. Sam lay back against his pillow, utterly miserable.

"I was just thinking about how that guy's brother was the sole reason why he murdered all those parents."

 _Good boy, Sam._

He ground his teeth again. "It must've been hard, living with the guilt, knowing he couldn't save his brother."

"Some people you just can't save, Sammy. We both know that a little too well. It's not somethin' that should be keeping you up at night. Go to sleep" Dean replied, his breathing evening out again quickly.

Alone in the darkness, Sam lay there quietly, wondering how the hell he was going to survive this one.


	10. Let Him Out

**I think it's about time to kick it up a notch ;)**

 **oOo**

 **Wichita, Kansas**

"Dean c'mon! Your breakfast is not that important!"

Dean shut the door to their motel room, wrapped sandwich and coffee cup balanced precariously in one hand. He shot his brother a look of pure horror. He opened his mouth to retort, closed it and stalked towards the Impala. He pointed a finger at the younger Winchester over the roof of the car.

"I am going to forget you said that," he announced, waggling his finger, a semi-serious frown on his face. "Breakfast is what separates the strong from the weak. Did Hercules take on the Titans on an empty stomach?"

"Err…I'm pretty sure that's not documented anywhere, Dean."

"Well, as your older – and wiser – brother, I am tellin' you that he did not. I am simply followin' the lead of the greats." Dean slid into the driver's seat, glancing over at his brother.

"You're chirpy this morning."

"We ganked another bad guy, saved people and the sun is still shinin'," Dean shrugged, a slow grin spreading lightly across his face. "Plus, I've decided that we're going to have a mini holiday."

"What? Why?"

"Because we've been workin' our asses off for weeks and I am sick of drivin' to Bobby's and then goin' straight out again. We are gonna spend a couple of days bein' normal red-blooded Americans. We are gonna go to Denver and we are gonna have _fun_. No hunting, no constantly asking if we're both okay. We are gonna be two brothers havin' a road trip and that's it" Dean declared brightly between mouthfuls of his sandwich.

 **oOo**

Sam listened to the whole exchange as he lay on the cot in the panic room. He had woken up in there having finally fallen into a fitful and restless sleep. He smiled sadly, listening to the eager, boyish tone of his brother's voice; Dean had good intentions and obviously thought that a 'mini holiday' could help fix him. It might well have done him some good if he was in control of his own body. He stared blankly up at the ceiling of the panic room, noting the minute changes in colour, the way the metal was pitted and flaking. He had never realised he'd paid quite so much attention to the small details of the real place.

 _"Sounds great. Give me a sec – I think I left something in the room."_ His own deep voice was followed by the familiar creak as the Impala's passenger door was opened. He heard the quiet jingle that announced his phone dialling a number. _"It's me…there's been a change of plan…"_ Sam's curiosity spiked as he listened, desperately trying to hear the voice on the other end of the phone. He couldn't hear anything but an indistinct rumble. _"Denver…"_ Soulless paused for a long moment, but when he spoke again, his voice was acidic. " _Look, it's called supply and demand and I'm not asking…yeah two. I'll let you know where."_

Supply and demand? What the hell was he on about? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good if he had to hide the conversation from Dean. Sam had never felt so helplessly frustrated.

 **oOo**

 **Denver, Colorado**

The Star Bar was teeming with activity. Warm bodies crammed themselves along the beer-drenched bar, hands waving to the staff who were run ragged trying to keep up with the demand. They met their patrons with easy smiles and good-natured teasing, seemingly unfazed by the sheer volume of people. Blue LED lights glowed down from the top of the shelf behind the bar, reflecting off of the mirror that faced the room. The bar's logo was prominent in white in the middle of the mirror, glowing a faint purple in the light. The stools that usually lined the bar had been removed to make more room but the rest of the bar was full of tall stools and tables which brought the partiers closer together. Black Stone Cherry's Dance Girl played quietly in amongst the backdrop of conversation that wormed its way throughout the whole bar.

Dean was thoroughly enjoying himself. In fact, he was pretty sure he hadn't enjoyed himself this much in months. Certainly not sat on a tall stool with a cold beer in one hand and an incredibly attractive brunette currently stood suggestively between his thighs, her hand looped around the back of his neck, fingers gently caressing the soft hairs at the base of his hairline. She took his bottle of beer, downing a mouthful as he watched her, his hand rested lightly on the curve of her hip underneath her shirt. Her skin was soft, warm and inviting beneath his palm. He knew instinctively that they weren't going to be in the Star Bar for much longer. He reluctantly slid his gaze away from her beautifully smirking mouth to look for Sam: there was no way they were sharing a motel room tonight.

He clocked his brother near the door, a petite blonde hanging off of one arm as he bent down to say something in her ear. His hair fell forward over his eyes but his mouth was curved up into a seductive smile, his lips brushing teasingly against her ear as he spoke. She threw her head back and laughed, her hand slipping into his and tugging him to the door. Dean caught his eye when he looked around, giving him a big grin as he was pulled out through the door. Looks like Sammy got the motel room this time. He turned his attention back to the brunette's very distracting lips, covering them with his own.

Yes, tonight was going to be a very good night.

 **oOo**

Sam sat in the panic room, angry and irritated. He had suffered through listening to Soulless pretend to be him for the entire day. He was angry that Dean hadn't noticed anything was wrong at all. He was angry at Soulless for being so damn convincing. Listening to him joke and laugh with his brother, Sam would've thought he was himself too.

Mostly he was angry with himself.

He was exactly what his other self had called him: weak. He had spent the day lying on the hard cot, springs digging sporadically into his back, feeling sorry for himself and wishing that Dean would suddenly realise that he was different. The weight of his hopelessness had been suffocating him slowly.

 _It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him._

The memory of the last time he'd been possessed – by the real Lucifer – had crept into his mind, sparked by what he'd told his brother. _He_ had managed to cage Lucifer; _he_ had trapped him and won. Watching his own bloodied fists repeatedly slam into Dean while his brother refused to fight, telling Sam he wasn't going to leave him over and over, had woken a rage and a desperation unlike anything Sam had ever known; it had ignited the eruption that had allowed him to win. He needed to find that fire again.

He would not be a prisoner in his own body.

He knew he wasn't capable of taking control, but there were other things he could focus on. Getting out of the damn panic room was one of them. Sam focused on the sound of his stolen voice, on the easy conversation between Soulless and Dean. He focused on it and let the frustration build within him. He clung to it, drawing it in. He sat on the cot, focusing intently on the wall of the panic room where the door used to be. He visualised it, imagined the solid feel of the cold metal, the flaking rust that dusted the floor whenever it was pushed open.

For what felt like hours he sat and focused.

He had no idea if what he was doing was right or could even do what he was hoping, but it was better than sitting there doing nothing.

Something was clearly working; he'd managed to catch flashes of visuals from the outside. He saw a star logo on a mirror, a packed bar, Dean talking to a leggy brunette. He'd also seem a striking blonde hanging off his own arm. The flashes and sounds of the blonde girl laughing and the suggestive murmurings he heard coming from his own mouth were the final straw. His anger became almost palpable and his stony eyes narrowed further. The door popped into reality.

"Ha!" he laughed, jumping up. Strolling over to the newly materialised door, he grasped the handle tightly and turned it slowly. It moved easily under his palm.

 _"Give me a moment, baby; I'll be right back."_

Sam skittered backwards. He waited, his whole body rigid, fully expecting his double to appear in the room. He didn't. He listened, hearing doors shut and things being moved around.

Then, nothing.

Soulless had blocked him again. That could only mean one thing; he didn't want Sam listening in. To be honest, Sam was fine with that. There was something intensely uncomfortable about the thought of listening to himself having sex. If that was the way Soulless wanted to play it, Sam would use the opportunity to get to know his enemy.

Stepping up to the door, he twisted the handle and pushed it open, revealing the realm beyond.

He wasn't really sure what to expect to see outside; what does the inside of your own mind look like? He poked his head out furtively, glancing around the door frame. He still expected his double to appear but all was silent.

He'd mostly expected to see Bobby's basement beyond the door – the same as it was in reality. Instead, Sam was confronted with a dimly corridor full of doors. It looked – and smelled – like a cheap motel. Figures. When you lead a nomadic life, it almost made sense that a generic motel became your 'base' in your head. The walls were a dirty cream, haphazardly painted with solid wooden panelling running along the bottom half of the walls, scuffs and chips marring the smooth surface. The carpet was threadbare, its hideous circular pattern barely recognisable except near the walls where no one stepped. Dark wooden doors lined the walls, tarnished golds number hanging from each one. Sam looked back at his own door: 283.

Stepping out into the corridor completely, his hunter instincts kicked in. He needed to be alert; somehow he didn't think Soulless would want him wandering around 'unsupervised' while he was apparently preoccupied. He grimaced; the less he thought about that, the better.

He walked to the nearest door, number 2005 (clearly there was no real sequencing), and tried the brass doorknob; it turned easily under his touch. Easing it open, Sam was confronted with what looked like a storage room full of tall filing cabinets. Rows upon rows of them – they filled the entire room. He walked in, heading to the nearest filing cabinet and yanked the top draw open. It slid out easily, revealing dividers full of files. He ran his fingers along the tops, eyes scanning the labels casually. Lake Manitoc, Sophie Carlton, The Lakefront Motel, Peter Sweeney, Andrea, Lucas… wait...he pulled out the file that said Lake Manitoc and flicked through the file, staring at his own handwriting and hundreds of photos of a lake. He stuffed the file back into the drawer, opening another and pulling out another file. Amanda Walker, 5th December. He flicked through photos of Dean, wide-eyed and terrified, his back pressed against the metal walls of a plane. These weren't just random files; they were memories. Memories, filed and recorded, of cases that he had worked years beforehand. Details that Sam thought he'd long forgotten – the names of people he'd interviewed, people he'd saved. Hundreds of photos, if that's what you could called the images you'd seen at the time, crammed into neatly packed dividers. It would seem you never truly forget the things you'd done.

As interesting as strolling down memory lane was, it wasn't going to help him with his currently predicament. Sam slid the filing cabinet closed and left the room, walking out to the left. Rounding the corner, he was met with more rows of doors; it seemed this 'motel' didn't have an end.

Sam tried every door he came across, sticking his head in to see if there was anything useful. He was met with a variety of rooms. Some revealed more filing cabinets, some showed what seemed like play back movies of specific moments in his life; Christmas with Dean, the first time he met Cas, Bobby playing catch with him as a kid. When he entered these rooms, hoping to interact with the various cast members of his life, they showed no awareness that he was even there. They were like death echoes; a constant loop of his great hits but that was all.

His mind remained eerily silent. On one hand, Sam knew that was a good thing, but it kept his nerves frayed and his footsteps quick. He needed to find _something_ before Soulless reappeared. He wandered for what felt like hours, but he had no real sense of time.

Eventually, he stood in front of another door: room 608. He tried the handle – locked. It was the first door he'd come across that was locked. He focused on it, trying to bend it to his will as he had done with the panic room wall.

It was so soft; Sam almost didn't hear it.

The gentle sound of running water filled his ears, startling him from his concentration. _Shit._ He turned and ran, racing back towards the panic room. His feet pounded noiselessly against the carpet. He slid around corner after corner. He didn't want Soulless to realise he'd made a breakthrough – the other version of himself was logical yet completely unpredictable. Sam had no idea what he'd do if he realised Sam had been able to change the 'reality' in their mind.

Skidding to a halt outside 283, he lunged back into the panic room. He spun to face the door, eyes narrowed desperately. It had to disappear! He tried to calm himself – panicking wasn't going to help. He clenched his jaw, letting his nerves cool. The door swayed and shimmered. With a final push, it melted from existence. Sam collapsed on the cot, mentally exhausted.

"Still here?" He lifted his head, glaring at Soulless who had materialised, seated at the foot of the bed, leaning casually against the wall. Sam let his head drop back onto the pillow, staring silently up at the ceiling. "Oh, Sammy, don't be so miserable. Keeping you in the dark isn't personal – it's just necessary."

"All that tells me is that you – we – are doing something I wouldn't ever consider doing" he snapped, still refusing to look at his double.

"Believe what you want. At the end of the day, we need to get rid of the Darkness – by any means possible. I, at least, am able to see that."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"'Liking' it isn't important. You're too weighed down with all your sentimentality. That's why I have to do this. But it's your lucky day; I've done what I need to so you can suffer through the rest of Dean's ridiculous holiday."

For the first time that day, relief truly flooded through Sam.

 **oOo**

Dean knocked on the motel room door as he slid the key in, sticking his head in the door but keeping his eyes averted.

"Is it safe to come in?" he called. The room was dim, curtains still drawn against the bright Denver sunshine that was flooding the outside world. He heard a groan emanating from under the covers of Sam's bed. He chanced a glance over – memories of the last time he'd caught his brother in the act still a little too fresh in his mind – to find Sam thankfully alone under a mountain of duvet. Sam pushed the duvet away, revealing his bare chest and anti-possession tattoo. Dean grinned. "Someone had a wild one last night, didn't they?" he smirked, looking pointedly at Sam's chest where faint but long scratches were evident. Sam's cheeks heated, flushing red.

"Shut up," he grumbled, grabbing a t shirt and yanking it on, swinging his legs out of bed. "I'm assuming you enjoyed yourself?"

"Oh yeah. Lots of times. Everywhere" Dean's smile grew, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Dude, I don't wanna know."

"Hey, it's not my fault you left ridiculously early and forced me to amuse myself" he sighed dramatically. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure it was a real hardship for you."

Dean nodded solemnly, grabbing a towel and flinging it at Sam's head.

"Hurry up and shower, man. We've got stuff to do!"

 **oOo**

Sam walked towards the Impala, newspaper under one arm, coffee cups in each hand. Dean was happily drumming against the steering wheel to Metallica's Ride the Lightning; his loud, tuneless singing wafting through the open windows much to the dismay of passers-by. The sun shone brightly overhead, warming the back of his neck already. It had been a good couple of days; Dean had insisted on visiting a variety of Denver's more obscure sites (including Dinosaur Ridge, much to Sam's amusement) and another host of bars. They'd avoided talking about Amara, Sam's mental state and every other they'd had going on for the whole time. It had been good to play the role of an 'average' 29-year-old. Soulless had been completely silent for over a day. Sam had almost managed to forget that he was walking a precarious line. He felt rested which was clearly Dean's intention.

He passed Dean one of the coffee cups, sipping his own as he unfolded the newspaper. And nearly dropped his coffee on it. Staring up at him was a picture of the blonde girl Soulless picked up in the Star Bar two nights before.

LOCAL GIRL FOUND SLAUGHTERED

He felt sick. The front page showed a cordoned off street with her picture – clearly ripped from her social media – in one corner. The details were vague; the reporters hadn't got much out of the police. She had been found the morning before: throat slit, signs of an apparent struggle.

Sam glanced at Dean who was flicking through his box of cassette tapes, still singing, oblivious to Sam's reaction. He would recognise her! Sam started to lean over, lifting and tilting the paper's front page towards his brother, when it felt like someone else was pushing his arm back down.

 _I don't think he needs to see that, do you?_

Soulless growled within him. Sam watched, horrified as his hands trembled – conflicted by Sam trying to push the paper one way, Soulless the other. He watched as he folded the paper and casually stuffed it down the side of his seat even as he wrestled for control. He ground his teeth, helpless rage filling him as his limbs returned to his lap.

"Back to the grindstone, right Sammy?" Dean said as Ride the Lightning finished. He ejected the tape, sliding in Motorhead.

"Yeah, I guess" Sam choked out. He glanced sideways at the corner of the newspaper. Had he murdered that girl? His hands were forced around the coffee cup; it should have felt warm, but all Sam felt was numb.

 **oOo**

 **Please review if you have the time :)**


	11. Let You See

**Apologies for the late update – life got in the way! I unintentionally picked a location that the boys actually then visited in the episode I watched of season 8 (typical!). Pure coincidence since I go on Google Maps and just pick somewhere!**

 **Thank you to** **billybobjoebob7676** **and** **StyxxsOmega** **for making me aware that the formatting was screwed!**

 **oOo**

 **Great Falls, Montana**

The tremors had started two days ago. A subtle tremble to begin with: the kind you get when it's cold outside and you haven't worn enough layers. It was barely noticeable if you weren't looking for it, isolated to just his fingers. Now, it was worse. The tremble had become the shakes, taking over control of his whole hands. He had had to fight to control the intensity whenever he picked something up. He was glad most coffee cups had lids on but mugs were a different matter. He had to grip them with a knuckle-whitening intensity just to avoid spilling the scalding liquid on his hand.

Sam probably wouldn't have minded if he knew _why_ he was having the shakes. Originally he'd put it down to stress – discovering that you have potentially murdered someone has that effect. Yes, he'd killed before, more times than he could count, but they had either been part of the job or collateral damage. This was deliberate. He'd created an alert on his phone, receiving any and all information that had appeared around the girl's death. He'd tapped into Denver PD's records, finding little more than the newspapers had revealed; her throat was slit but the coroner's report hadn't been uploaded yet.

A dull throbbing had slowly started in the back of his skull to boot and so far none of the painkillers he'd taken had touched it. He was tired and irritable; life completely sucked right now. He just needed _someone_ he could offload onto. He'd been trying to formulate a way to tell Dean what was going on, but had so far come up with nothing. Trying to outsmart yourself was nigh on impossible.

Dean kicked him under the table, breaking Sam from his reverie. He shot Dean a sideways glare before refocusing on the detective in front of them. Detective Maddison was a portly man in his late forties, balding with wisps of grey peppering the little black hair he had remaining on the sides. His white shirt was pulled taut over his stomach, his police badge resting on it from the chain around his neck. He gestured to the open file in front of them on the table.

"All the vic's families say the same thing; they heard a weird song right before their kid went missing" he explained, resting his fist on the table top.

"Did they all go missing at the same time of day?" Dean asked, flicking through the case notes.

"Nope. One was the middle of the night; two in the day after school hours. Kids are all eight years old. The first has been missing for three days now; our perp seems to be grabbing one a day. Thing is, there is no sign of struggle or anything to suggest that they didn't go willingly."

"Do the vics know each other? Could it be someone they all trust?" Sam pressed. Detective Maddison shook his head.

"They all go to different schools – we couldn't find a single connection between any of the families."

"Ok, so what about this song?"

"The families all said the same; it sounded like a flute or something similar. They said they'd never heard the tune before but it sounded old – almost like a marching song. We've not got much else to go on; we've got no other leads."

Noting it was their cue to go, the boys thanked the detective, taking the case file with them. They walked through the noisy bull pen, catching the wary glances of some of the officers; they never did like the feds 'muscling in'.

Exiting the Cascade County Sheriff's Office, they headed back to the Impala, the regional prison looming over behind them. The summer sun blazed down on them, baking the ground beneath their feet, scorching the door handles on the Impala.

"Seriously dude, can you at least try to pay attention when we're interviewing?" Dean snapped, his patience clearly thinning in the heat. "I know you don't feel great, but you need to lock it up. We're not gonna solve this case if you're not givin' it everythin'."

"Look, I'm tryin', Dean. Back off" Sam retorted, his head pounding too much for him to care about being the diplomatic one. He got into the car, slamming the door shut. Dean climbed in, his silence icy as he started the car and reversed out.

They drove down the I-45 in tense silence, Sam flicking through the case file again. He held the papers down against the wind that blew through the open window, ruffling his hair, pushing it into his eyes. He swept it back with one hand.

"You got any kind of theory yet?" Dean asked after a few minutes, his tone softer.

"One, although it sounds kinda crazy."

"We can deal with crazy. What you thinkin'?"

"Fairy tales."

"Oh god, not again" Dean groaned. "They always creep me out. Which one this time?"

"The Pied Piper," Sam suggested, his eyes still scanning through the file. "It fits most of the story: only kids are the ones going missing, they hear a marching song and follow it. In the original, the Pied Piper was supposed to be paid to get rid of a rat infestation in Hamelin but the mayor refused to pay up. So the piper took the town's children and they were never seen again. They only thing that doesn't fit is the motive."

"So we need to find out why the piper – if that's who it is – is here and what he's after" Dean stated.

"Pretty much. Somehow I doubt it's a rat infestation this time" Sam mumbled, throwing the file onto the backseat. He clenched his hands together, trying to rub the tremors out of his fingers. _What the hell are you doing to me?_ he thought silently. This had to be something to do with Soulless. "We should hit the library – see what local lore there is."

 **oOo**

The Great Falls library was peaceful, humming gently with the muted buzz of conversations whispered in hushed corners. Computer fans whirled lazily, occasionally drowned out by the harsh grating noise of the printers. Tall windows and skylights filled the whole space with light, removing the need for overhead electrics.

Sam sat at one of the long worktables that dominated the centre of the large open room, several books opened in front of him. He massaged his throbbing temples with his fingers, trying to concentrate on the words in front of him. He had been there all afternoon; Dean had left after a couple of hours to go and interview the families. So far Sam had found nothing; no reason whatsoever explaining why the Pied Piper could possibly be in Great Falls. The only loose connection he could find was the town's history of gold mining, but that didn't explain the sudden disappearances of the children. The more he tried to focus, the more blurred his vision became. Slamming the book in front of him shut, he got to his feet. This was pointless. He gathered the books, carrying them to the returns section before walking out of the library.

Despite the hour, Great Falls was still warm, the sun still a long time from setting. Sam checked his phone – nothing from Dean. He must still be busy with the families. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Sam strode along the pavement. He just needed to clear his head, have a break for a little while.

One minute he was walking, thankful for the wispy breeze that brush softly against his face; the next, everything was gone.

 **oOo**

Dean prowled back and forth across the motel room, his movements sporadic and furious. For what felt like the fiftieth time, he pushed aside the faded chequered curtain, staring out into the black beyond. He shoved the curtain back into place with a growl, checking his phone screen. Again. Sam was supposed to have been back hours ago. The library had closed nearly six hours ago (what library would stay open until 1am?) and Sam shouldn't have gone off on any leads without telling him. Scratch that, Sam _wouldn't_ go off on a lead without at least calling in. Dean had tried tracking his brother's GPS but it was switched off.

Usually when there was radio silence between them, something had happened.

Should he call Bobby? Dean ground his teeth, annoyed that he even considered it. It was doubtful that Sam had called Bobby and not him, so calling would only make the old hunter worry and head out there. If Sam was perfectly normal, Dean probably wouldn't have worried as much. Yet, one of the last times Sam had gone it was because he thought he was _with_ his brother. What if that had happened again?

He whirled around when the sound of a key scraping the lock met his ears. He stormed forward as Sam entered, closing the door behind him. Dean slammed him forcefully into the wall next to the door.

"What the hell, man?! Where have you been?!" Dean shouted angrily, his green eyes livid. His subconscious briefly registered the lack of expression on his brother's face before a wall of surprise was erected.

"Dean, it's only been a few hours" Soulless said calmly, making sure he had the right mix of emotion on his face. He pushed Dean away firmly but not aggressively, standing back at his full height.

"A few hours? You didn't answer my calls; you didn't wait for me: where have you been?"

"I was out. Look, I'm sorry if I worried you but I got caught up looking into leads" Soulless shrugged, pasting an apologetic frown on. Dean continued to glare at him but the tension in his shoulders visibly began to ease. Fooling him was almost too easy; he blindly accepted anything 'Sam' said.

"I don't care what kinda leads you're followin' up. You call, got it?" Dean snapped, crossing his arms. Soulless held his hands up in defence.

"Alright, fine. Do you wanna hear what I found out or not?" Dean assented, the glare finally dropping from his brow as he sat on the edge of the bed nearest the door. "Ok so I couldn't find anything to do with the Pied Piper but I did look into the history of Great Falls; a lot of mining was done around here. Where would you hide if you were obsessed with riches?"

"A mine," Dean realised, "are there any near here?"

"One. An old gold mine south east of here. If I was looking for somewhere to stash some kids, that would be my plan" Soulless shrugged, grabbing the keys to the Impala and tossing them to Dean. The elder Winchester grabbed his jacket, following his brother out of the door.

 **oOo**

The old Gibson Mine sat fifteen miles from the outskirts of Great Falls, isolated amongst the towering trees of the surrounding forest. Its entrance was concealed, buried into the side of a slope that was covered in debris from the trees above. Wooden beams were beginning to sag under the weight of years; the gates were broken at the hinges.

Dean stepped closer to the entrance, his gun drawn and clasped in both hands. His knees were bent, cushioning his footfalls as he moved closer to the doors. Soulless was just behind him, mirroring Dean's posture and movement. Taking his flashlight from his back pocket, Dean used his gun to nudge open the door before shining the light into the tunnel beyond. The rafters were low but sturdy; rubble littered the floor. They entered the mine, ears straining in the silence.

Stones crunched and smacked beneath their boots, disturbed by their quiet movements. Dean moved the flashlight continuously, shining it up walls, across the floor and ceiling, illuminating as much as possible. The deeper they went, the colder it grew. As they went to round a bend, Soulless grabbed Dean's arm, stopping him in his tracks. The older Winchester looked over his shoulder at his brother who pointed to his ear with his free hand.

 _Listen_.

Dean strained his hearing in the darkness, taking shallow breaths to become noiseless. A faint whimper echoed softly off the walls, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Dull rhythmic thumps, like metal on metal, cut through the cries. There was definitely something down here. Soulless dropped his hand, readjusting his grip on his gun.

Leading the way, still cautious, Dean edge further down into the mine shaft. Up ahead, a dim light source flickered and glowed; they switched off their flashlights. The light grew brighter the closer they got. Stopping at another bend, Dean peeked around the corner to find a cavernous space hollowed out. The whole cave shone dully in the firelight; the floor was littered with rushes and discarded tools. Leaning further, Dean spotted a figure hunched over what looked like some sort of forge. It was quite short, standing probably no taller than four and a half feet tall. A green tunic was belted at the creature's waist, covering the tops of dirty brown trousers. A wispy line of grey hair wrapped around the back of its head, stopping above its ears. It wielded a heavy-looking hammer with ease. A passage led off to the creature's left; soft cries emanated from that direction.

"Dude, that's not a piper" Dean whispered so quietly that he barely made any real sound. Soulless cocked his head to the side, confused.

"You sure?" he mouthed.

"It looks like a freakin' gnome" Dean murmured, "I think the kids are in a passage nearby." He turned away again, raising his gun. Rounding the corner fully, Dean aimed the gun and fired directly at the creature's back, hitting it where its heart would be. It grunted and whirled, snarling when it saw the Winchesters. Its long nose was long and hooked, piercing yellow eyes glowered at them. With a screech it sped towards them, hammer raised.

"Shit. I think you just pissed it off" Soulless commented, almost too nonchalantly for Dean's liking.

"Y'think?!" he shouted as he grabbed a wooden bar from the ground, raising it up as the gnome took a swing at him with the hammer. The wood shattered into two pieces in his hands. Moving between the creature and Sam unconsciously, Dean jabbed at it with the jagged wood. His attention was so focused on the gnome that he didn't see Soulless grab another block of wood.

He definitely didn't see the wood swinging his way until it was too late. Stars exploded as he dropped to the ground.

 **oOo**

Sam had been working on the lock of the unopened room for hours. His fingers were sore from using the fiddly lock picks, twisting and turning them relentlessly. At least, his fingers would have been sore if they were technically fingers; he assumed the pain was a manifestation of his mental exhaustion.

He'd been ripped out of his body hours ago and hadn't heard anything since. Waiting to make sure that Soulless wasn't going to reappear anytime soon had been tedious and tense. Eventually, Sam had recreated the door to the panic room and had been working on this door ever since. He was convinced it belonged to Soulless; why else wouldn't he be able to get in?

A faint click trembled through his fingers.

 _Finally._

Sam put the lock pick down and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open. He let it open fully, staying stood in the doorway as he absorbed what was in front of him. Or rather, the lack of what was there.

The room was completely bare: blank grey walls lined three sides, the carpet was exactly the same as the flooring of the corridor Sam stood in. There was no furniture except for a single desk that was stood against the wall on the left. It was completely…soulless. No personality. Nothing.

None of that was what caught Sam's attention though. The image of Dean stood facing – what was that? A gnome? – filling the wall in front of him had Sam rooted to the spot. It was like a giant television screen dominating the entire wall. He stepped into the room and was almost instantly overwhelmed.

He could _feel._

His body was cold; wherever he was was a complete contrast to the baking summer sun Sam had left earlier. The smell of damp and earth was poignant, almost overpowering. He felt the loose stones beneath his boots, the bulge of his gun in his waistband. Why wasn't his gun drawn? Sam felt something hard clenched in both hands. Looking at the 'screen' he caught a glimpse of it; a chunk of wood about two feet long. Sam tried to jerk his hands but nothing happened. Great. He could feel but he had no control.

Soulless raised the wooden beam, whacking Dean forcibly in the back of the head.

"No!" Sam shouted, horrified as he felt the blow and heard the sickening crunch of the wood making contact. Dean crumpled to the ground. What the hell was his double doing?! It didn't make any sense!

The gnome momentarily looked as surprised as he felt. The wood slipped from his hands, banging against the floor. Soulless raised his hand. And that was when Sam felt it.

A strange, warm feeling bubbly up inside him, burning almost hot. His muscles all contracted, a sudden surge of power running through him. Sam hadn't felt this way since…no, it couldn't be…

He watched, horrified, as Soulless' fingers stretched out towards the gnome which stood still – completely frozen. It snarled and struggled, unable to move. Soulless slowly closed his fingers into a fist, the screen completely focused on the creature before him. It had sunk to its knees, gasping frantically and clawing at its neck. Collapsing backwards, it lay still, completely motionless.

Realisation and horror flooded through Sam like a tidal wave, his own knees buckling beneath him, dropping him to the floor. He hadn't felt a surge of power like that in a long time. Not since before Lucifer. The tremors, the headaches, the nausea suddenly all made sense. They were all his withdrawal symptoms.

Withdrawal from demon blood.

 **oOo**

 **Please review!**


	12. I Must Confess

**I'd hoped some of you would've seen the demon blood thing coming, but fear not, the road is far from straight and narrow from now on ;)**

 **oOo**

 **Great Falls, Montana**

Everything felt incredibly heavy, like his limbs were made of lead. He could feel his body but coming back to conscious was akin to wading through mud – hard work and messy. His head throbbed painfully where the blow – he assumed that was the cause – had landed. Considering how many times both he and Sam had been knocked unconscious, Dean figured it should've started getting easier to wake up. Or have caused permanent damage by now.

Opening eyelids that felt like dragging up metal shutters, Dean groaned as the firelight in the mine lanced into his eyes. He blinked blearily, raising a hand to feel the throbbing wound on the side of his head. His fingertips came away bloody.

"Dude, you alright?" he looked up at his brother who grasped him by the elbow and helped him sit up. Dean looked around, past his brother and saw the gnome dead a few feet away. Blood trickled from a stab wound over its heart.

"'s it dead?" he mumbled as the younger Winchester inspected his head, nodding.

"Yeah. Turns out the demon knife worked. Who knew." He pulled Dean up, steadying him as he swayed. "We should get you out of here."

Dean frowned at him as he looked towards the exit. "Where are the kids?" He could've sworn he saw impatience flicker across his brother's face. God, that gnome must've knocked a few screws loose. He pushed his brother aside and headed down the passage next to where the gnome had been working. In front of him stood a rickety wooden door, a beam of wooden wedge up against it. He kicked it out of the way, opening the door, revealing the darkness before him. Inside, three terrified, ashen faces stared up at him. "Thank God" Dean breathed and beckoned the children out.

 **oOo**

Climbing out of the Impala sluggishly, Dean wasn't sure he'd ever been so glad to be back at the crappy motels they always stayed in. They'd returned the children to their parents, assuring them that they were fine and that the abductor had been dealt with. His brother had been entirely factual throughout the whole thing and then was quiet in the car on the way back. He hadn't even insisted on driving which he usually did if Dean had been hit in the head. Maybe the fight with the creature had affected him too.

Dean followed behind him as he walked towards their motel room until two men standing outside one of the other rooms caught his attention.

"…Was crazy. Guy says there weren't a drop a blood left. Satan worshippers is what I reckon. They're all nut jobs. Reckon they do all kinds a crazy shit wi' blood" one of the men ranted, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

"Dean!" his brother called. Dean held up his hand and approached the men. He went to pull his FBI badge from his pocket but thought better of it. Nosy-bystander eavesdropping was probably going to get him more information.

"You say there's devil-worshippers 'round these parts?" he asked, matching his accent to theirs. Both men looked surprised at his arrival, but it was quickly replaced with eagerness when confronted with a new audience.

"'S what I reckons. Police says they found some dead guy – dumped in a warehouse wi' no blood left in 'im. None."

Dean nodded gravely. "Sounds like them types alright. Where'd it happen?"

"Industrial place on the outskirts a town. Crazy shit goin' on these days. Can't trust nobody." Dean nodded his agreement before walking away towards his brother who stood in the doorway.

"Suit up – we got another potential case. Some body drained of blood downtown."

 **oOo**

Soulless watched Dean carefully as he crouched next to the body, inspecting the wounded inflicted. He mentally cursed; he had hoped to come back and dispose of the body before it was discovered. Dean's incessant calling had spurred him to leave the body – particularly following the older Winchester's threat to just start looking for him. He couldn't afford for Dean to catch him in the act. Not yet; soon it wouldn't really matter. Soulless had assumed – wrongly – that the warehouse he'd used was completely abandoned. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a homeless man's favourite refuge at night.

He had been satisfied with the results earlier. It proved his theory and, for the moment, that was good enough.

Dean rose and spoke again to one of the forensic team who was dressed in blue overalls that slipped up his wrists as he raised his arms to readjust one of the flood lights that was currently pouring over the body. They had moved the body from behind the containers he'd stored it behind, having taken all the photos they needed of it in position. The man lay on the floor, his head twisted to one side, revealing the deep gaping cut over his carotid artery. Another stab wound was placed directly over his heart, his shirt drenched in blood around it.

Dean nodded to the forensic technician and made his way back over. It was all Soulless could do not to huff with impatience. He knew exactly what Dean was going to say.

"I don't think it's one for us" Dean commented, staring down at the body.

"Why not?"

"Seems those guys exaggerated; yeah there is a lot of blood missin' but they reckon he was killed somewhere else and dumped here, hence the lack of blood." Amateurs. They were clearly incompetent but that worked for him if it got Dean off the trail. "The body definitely isn't drained of blood." Soulless was very aware of that; he'd used three pints, maybe four tops. Considering the human body averages eight or nine, there was plenty left. "Think he was done in by a run-of-the-mill douchebag – nothin' we can do. I'm beat; let's go."

 **oOo**

Sam was in a quandary. He had stayed in Soulless' 'room' until they had left the body of the man. The true horror of what his double had been doing had sunk in, leaving Sam numb. Staring down at the body on the floor of the warehouse had brought the image of Annabel, the girl he and Dean had found in the alley weeks ago, and the man in the warehouse straight to the front of his mind. The nightmares he'd had about Annabel suddenly made sense; they were memories not dreams. Soulless' memories. On some subconscious level, Sam had access to everything Soulless had seen and done. He just didn't know how to access it. That whole case now made sense even down to the dead vampire; he had clearly found one and slaughtered it to frame it.

Yet, of all the things Sam had been expecting, binging on demon blood hadn't even been on his radar. He needed to know _why_. Why did Soulless think he could allow them to start using again? It would get out of control again, just like it did before.

That wasn't his current quandary though. He was back in the panic room, door gone, wondering if he should confront Soulless. If he did, he was likely to get some answers. The problem with that approach was that Soulless probably didn't know Sam had seen any of what he'd done. What would he do if he found out? Would Sam have more chance of alerting Dean if his double had no idea what he knew? There was also the risk that if he did confront Soulless, he might never get control of his body again.

No, it wasn't worth the risk – yet.

So when Soulless materialised in the panic room, Sam just glared at him darkly.

"Look, all you need to know is that the creature – turns out it was a gnome of all things – is dead. Dean got knocked out but he's fine. We've just got back from a body that Dean thought was our kinda thing but it wasn't" Soulless informed him. Sam realised that he wasn't supposed to have heard anything since Soulless took him over.

"Isn't he gonna find it a bit weird if I seem clueless about everything but the basics?" he remarked acidly.

"He already thinks you're nuts; let's just add memory loss to the mix" Soulless shrugged. "What I'm doing is for the good of us all; remember that, Sam."

"I highly doubt it" Sam sneered as the panic room disappeared.

 **oOo**

 **I-90, outskirts of Rapid City, South Dakota**

It had been nearly twelve hours since Sam had regained the use of his body. Now that he was aware of the demon blood coursing through his veins, he could feel it. He felt stronger, more aggressive. It explained why he'd been so irritable before.

Dean was in the passenger seat for a change, having driven for several hours. Sam had fully expected him to sleep – they had been up for most of the night – but he just sat there quietly, watching the road ahead of them. He kept flicking through his phone, opening the glove box to check the others. He seemed…off.

"What's up, Dean? You've been fidgeting for the last hour" Sam commented. He glanced out the corner of his eye to see his brother watching him intently. He had that look where he knew something was wrong and was trying to figure out what it was. For the first time in his life, Sam was glad of that look. It meant Dean was suspicious. He _needed_ his brother to be suspicious.

"I just can't work out how that damn gnome got the drop on me. I don't remember it."

"What was the last thing you do remember?" Sam pressed. He couldn't reveal his hand – not yet.

"The thing takin' a swing at me with a hammer" Dean murmured, his eyes still fixed on Sam.

"It was a pretty big hit to the head; I'm not surprised you blanked some of it out" Sam replied. He'd never hated lying to Dean more than he did right now.

"Yeah, maybe" Dean muttered.

"Do y'know what I find weird? That we keep seeming to find bodies missin' blood" Sam remarked. He felt a weird twisting sensation, almost directly behind his eyes. Soulless. Sam smirked briefly; he didn't like that comment, but as far as he knew, Sam didn't know anything about the reasons behind the bodies. Maybe he wasn't as clued in as he thought.

"I guess, but like I said last night – that one was just your typical human psycho." Dean muttered.

"Maybe. I say we keep our eyes open; three bodies is off – even for us." Dean nodded his assent. Satisfaction filled Sam; Soulless really didn't like that one. Good. It was about time Sam made his 'mission' harder. If having less access to demons did that, so be it.

 **oOo**

Bobby looked up from his cluttered desk as the back door in the kitchen banged open. The lights flickered on in the darkness beyond the double doors, spilling extra warmth into the glowing living room. Dean and Sam rounded the corner, bags slung across the same shoulder. Had it been another era, they would've resembled migrant workers in their worn jeans and beaten jackets with easy grins greeting the old hunter. Relief filled Bobby as it did every time the boys came home safely. He'd lost count of the times one – or both – of them had turned up bloody and broken. His quick eyes did a swift once over of both of them, concluding that they were both physically fine. They were his boys in all but name.

"What took you two so long?" he barked gruffly, hiding his pleasure under a stern countenance. Sam threw his bag down and eased onto the sofa as Dean poured whisky into three tumblers.

"You ever come across a gnome before?" Dean asked as he passed around the liquor.

" _That's_ what you were dealin' with?! Nasty little buggers" Bobby replied. Sam snorted.

"Yeah, we realised that. It took three kids – had them out in an abandoned mine on the outskirts of town" he explained as Bobby sipped his whisky, rolling it over his tongue.

"Sounds about right. They got a real fixation with gold. Been reports throughout history of them snatchin' town kids and eventually demandin' payment from the town. Town doesn't pay – kids are never seen again. Kinda like the Pied Piper of Hamelin" Bobby clarified.

"Ha! Said so" Sam smirked, looking pointedly at Dean who rolled his eyes.

"The Pied Piper _is_ just a fairy tale, Sam. They're not all true. I'd imagine it was based on a gnome though" the old hunter chided, smiling softly at the brother's relaxed states. He was glad to see them behaving normally rather than constantly worrying. Dean downed his whisky before leaving the room, heading down the hall.

Bobby turned his attention to Sam fully, looking intently into his face. He observed the tired lines that had appeared around his eyes and the uneasiness that hid in the shadows behind his half smile. Most of all, he saw the reined-in panic loitering behind his eyes. All was not well with the younger Winchester. "How you doin' Sam? Really?"

Sam looked down at his whisky, swirling it slowly around in the tumbler. He had the look of a child who was about to confess he'd done something he shouldn't have. Bobby waited patiently; he knew better than to press too early. Sam looked up, his eyes grey steel.

"Not great. Bobby, I need you to listen to me. There's demon-" The tumbler fell to the floor, smashing on the hardwood.

"Sam!" Bobby cried, lurching from his chair and around the desk in a flash. Dean heard the shout and raced down the hallway, stopping short when he saw his baby brother convulsing on the floor.

 **oOo**

 **Please review – I love hearing your opinions :)**


	13. No Escape for Me

**I'm so sorry for the late update – life has been beyond hectic this week (boo!). Thank you to everyone who has left such wonderful comments; you really do make my day! Happy reading!**

 **oOo**

Dean stood, rooted to the spot in horror. His memory sailed back to Sam's detox in the panic room years ago. His body jerked and writhed sporadically in the same way, twisting and lurching. His back arched, almost bending the younger Winchester in half, his head and heels pressed into the floor. Bobby knelt on the floor by his head, grappling with his flailing arms, trying desperately to stop his thrashing.

Sam's body flipped onto his side, his right hand scrabbling and grasping at the knife at Bobby's belt. He yanked it from its sheath, clutching it so hard his knuckles were white, nearly slicing Bobby's arm as his whole body continued to convulse. He slammed the point into the exposed floorboards while Bobby tried to wrestle it away from him.

"Dean! Don't just stand there!" Bobby shouted, his hand clamped around Sam's spare wrist. Dean lurched into action as Sam dragged the knife point in a straight line down the wood. Beads of sweat soaked his forehead. He raised the point up to the top of the line, seemingly trying to focus even as his body jerked and thrashed. He started to draw a curve but the knife suddenly pitched sideways as his arm spasmed, almost like someone had yanked his arm. Dean grabbed his wrist, prying his fingers off of the knife as his brother moaned what sounded like his name. Throwing the knife away, Dean helped manoeuvre his brother onto his back, holding him down, hoping that this couldn't last much longer. Rolling into the back of his head, the whites of Sam's eyes stared grotesquely up at Dean.

He closed his own and prayed.

 **oOo**

The battle for control raged on inside Sam's head. He had been hanging onto his body by a thread, the pressure building in his head as Soulless thrashed and fought. He lost control several times, scrabbling desperately to regain it. He had been so close! He had no idea how he was fighting; it was becoming a battle of wills. He had no control over his voice at all and frustration filled him when Dean snatched the knife away, preventing him from his last attempt at communicating.

 **oOo**

Sam's body gave one final jerk before slumping on the floor, his eyes closed. Dean's grip on his shoulder and wrist had become tight enough to bruise but he couldn't relax even when he felt all of the tension fall out of his brother.

"Sammy?!" he called, desperately searching his face for signs of life. Bobby removed his own hand from Sam's shoulder, pressing his fingers against his neck, giving a small nod before lifting one of his eyelids. Sam's eye was still rolled up into his head, but his breathing was even and strong. Dean and Bobby exchanged worried glances over the younger Winchester. "What the hell was that?"

 **oOo**

The blow shouldn't have hurt yet somehow it did. It knocked Sam to the floor, bouncing him off the metal frame of the cot. He pushed up off the floor, rising to his knees. A knee jammed in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the floor. He struggled viciously to dislodge Soulless who straddled him, grappling for his arms and yanking them painfully behind his back, finally subduing Sam.

"I'll give it to you; you caught onto the tricks in here faster than I thought you would." The emotionless tone sent a chill through Sam; anyone else would've been livid that he'd tried to give up their secret. Not Soulless. He couldn't feel livid even if he tried and that was more frightening than anything. "How long have you known about the blood?" Soulless asked, securing Sam's wrists with a cable tie. Sam set his jaw, refusing to answer. He cried out when Soulless' hand pressed against his head, pain lancing through his temple. It stopped the instant the hand was removed.

"What the hell did you just do to me?" he snarled, twisting beneath Soulless.

"I can get any answers I want from you, Sam. Asking is merely a courtesy. So you've been out and about, snooping when I wasn't watching. Seems I've let you have far too much free rein, doesn't it?"

Soulless yanked Sam upright, pulling him to his feet. He grasped the top of Sam's arm in a vice-like grip, steering him to the wall and the door that materialised effortlessly. Sam dug his heels in, fighting against his double as they left the room. He protest was halted when he was slammed into the wall, Soulless' hand around his neck. Seeing his own cold grey eyes glaring back at him was still disconcerting. "You've already proven yourself to be a complete pain in my ass; stop testing my patience. The less you cooperate, the harder things will get for you." Soulless stepped back again, tugging on Sam's arm. Sam trailed just behind him, hating his obedience but knowing that he wouldn't like whatever Soulless had in store for him if he didn't comply.

They walked in silence down the 'motel' corridor, coming to a stop outside 608 – Soulless' room. Soulless opened it effortlessly as though it had never even been locked. The giant 'screen' was completely blank, a wall of total darkness. _Neither of us are in control_ , Sam realised. Their mental exchanges had always been brief – brief enough to pass for a short daydream without arousing suspicion from Dean. The fight had clearly taken Soulless by surprise, forcing him to put their body to sleep while he saw to Sam.

Despite the lack of visuals coming from the walls, the room glowed as if it was full of sunlight. Soulless dragged him in and over to one of the walls, a set of long chains appearing from nowhere. They were bolted to the wall with a thick loop. Panic filled Sam, renewing his struggles. "Pack it in or I'll tie you down so you can't move" Soulless growled, cuffing him round the head with his spare hand. He swivelled Sam so that he faced the desk against the opposite wall, bending down to grab the manacle hanging off the end of one of the chains. Sam felt him wrap it around his wrist above the cable tie before he repeated the action with the second manacle. Sam's arms dropped as the cable tie was snapped off, leaving him secured to the wall. Soulless stepped back as Sam raised his arms to inspect the cuffs looping his wrists, the chains clinking as he lifted them. They were short enough that Sam could only take one step forward before the pulled his arms back. There were no visible keyholes or joins of any kind on the manacles; they were unbroken bands of metal.

"You might have been able to make the door appear, but that's easy. You aren't powerful enough to get those off, not by a long shot." Soulless explained. He grabbed the desk chair, turning it so that he could face Sam. "You have questions."

"How could you do this? Do you have any idea what happens when we drink demon blood?!" Sam blurted out, his hands bunched into fists.

"I know what it does to _you_ , yes."

"What does that mean?"

"You're afraid of the lust for power, the withdrawal, of being the 'blood junkie'," Soulless leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I'm different. I don't _want_ anything; I'm not capable of feeling it. Therefore, I can't get addicted like you can. I can use demon bloody without repercussions. I used you to see how quickly the blood wore off; that's why I kept letting you have control of our meatsuit. I used your withdrawal symptoms – the tremors, the nausea – to see if I was drinking enough and how long I should go before consuming again."

"But what is the _point_?" Sam asked, completely sickened.

"Because we're _powerful_ on demon blood, Sam. You are weak; you can't handle it. That's not really your fault – you can't help the fact that you feel addiction. It's part of the cross you bear having that damn soul. I can be a better hunter than you could ever hope to be. You saw what I did to that gnome; I can neutralise more than just demons, which is all you could ever do. This is how I will beat Amara." Soulless spoke with more enthusiasm than Sam had ever heard him use. He believed in what he said completely, but why wouldn't he? It was logical and that was how Soulless thought.

"That doesn't make sense; if demon blood could gank Amara, we'd have had a full-blown demon – like Crowley – try months ago. It doesn't matter how much demon blood you use: you're still human."

"True, but I never said I could kill her right now; I'm not at the end game – not yet. I've got a few more things I need to try out first," Soulless explained, rising. "As for you, you're done interfering. I don't need you anymore and as soon as I find a way, I'll expel you. I don't care what you see; you'll never leave this room again."

He flickered out of view as Sam, horrified, screamed after him.

 **oOo**

Castiel appeared in Bobby's kitchen, his senses instantly attuned to the utter stillness within the house. He knew Dean was here so why was it so quiet? Something was clearly wrong. The lights were off, a dim glow emanating from the living room where the fire was dying slowly in the hearth. The angel cocked his head to one side, listening. He could make out the soft rumbling sound of Dean's voice coming from upstairs.

Walking through the house, Cas made his way swiftly up the stairs, huffing internally – Dean would only shout at him if he just appeared upstairs. Judging by the solemnity cloaking the house, Cas knew that startling the occupants was a bad idea. He followed the sound of the voices to the end of the landing and the open door at the end. Bobby sat in a chair beside the bed, Sam's still form tucked under the covers. Dean leaned against the wall next to the windows, his arms crossed over his chest, a concerned frown etched into his forehead.

"Dean? What happened?" Cas' deep bass voice reverberated through the room, halting the conversation between Bobby and Dean. He nodded to Bobby who returned the gesture.

"Sam collapsed nearly four hours ago. He had some sort of fit and he's been unconscious ever since" Bobby explained, scratching lightly at his beard. Castiel frowned.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"We were goin' to if he didn't wake up soon" Dean murmured, his eyes fixed on his brother's face. His frown deepened and he pushed himself off the wall when he saw Sam's eyelids flicker. He was across the room and sat on the edge of the bed in two quick strides. "Sam? Sammy? Can you hear me?" he called softly. The reply was a soft groan as Sam tilted his head against the pillow. His eyes opened blearily, lacking focus as he blinked rapidly. He lifted a hand weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked, voice hoarse. He scrunched his face up as he tried to swallow.

"We're at Bobby's still," Dean replied, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table, tilting it to meet his brother's lips. He drank deeply before pushing the glass away and letting his head drop back to the pillow. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit" Soulless chuckled mirthlessly. His eyelids drooped as though he was finding it difficult to stay awake.

"Get some rest; I'll come check on you later" Dean soothed him, putting the glass back on the table. He stood up, motioning for Bobby and Cas to lead the way out of the room. He pulled the door to but didn't close it as they made their way downstairs.

Bobby stoked the fire, bringing the dying flames back to life with a poker. Cas stood in the centre of the room awkwardly, although Dean knew he didn't feel that way. The angel rarely sat down. He crossed to Bobby's drinks cabinet, downing a couple of fingers of whisky before pouring a second.

"I don't know if he's actually gettin' worse or if I'm just worryin' over nothin'" he remarked, perching on the edge of Bobby's desk. "Either way, that was just weird."

"Weird how?" Cas asked. Bobby pointed to the floor by the angel's feet. Cas crouched down, running his fingers over the pale scratch marks in the dark wood. It looked like a half-formed semicircle with a straight line and a partially curved one that then ended in a right angle. "What did this?"

"Sam did, right in the middle of his fit. Grabbed my knife – we thought he was tryin' to use it as a weapon. We saw what he'd done afterwards" Bobby explained, putting the poker back on the rack.

"It's not a sigil I recognise" Cas remarked.

"It ain't a sigil. I think he was tryin' to write a 'D'."

"Why would you think that?"

"Right before he collapsed, he started sayin' somethin' about demons."

"What about demons?"

"No idea. That's all he said before he was on the floor. Guess we'll just have to ask him when he's more awake" Bobby finished, easing himself into his chair behind the desk. "At least he seems to be okay for now." Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"'Til next time. We can't keep goin' on like this Bobby; there has to be somethin' we can do" he murmured.

"We'll find something. But," he held up his finger when Dean opened his mouth to protest, "we'll look in the mornin'. He's fine for tonight and that's what matters. Besides, I don't think Cas is here for a social call."

"I have never done social calls, it's true" Cas nodded, his expression serious. Dean sniggered, rolling his eyes. "I have been looking into what Crowley said about Lucifer."

"Any luck?" Bobby asked.

"Not much that I would consider useful, unfortunately. The angel lore doesn't contain much more than we already know; that Lucifer defeated the Darkness – it doesn't specify how – the first time she was free, that he is the father of all demons and that he and Michael are the only remaining archangels.

"I would suggest we work our way backwards and see what theories we can surmise. I have already looked into the archangel aspect; I couldn't find anything that suggested the archangels are any more powerful against Amara than regular angels."

Dean tapped his fingers rhythmically against his whisky tumbler, brow furrowed in thought.

"I guess demons are the next phase. We can summon Crowley tomorrow, see what he knows. Not that he'll give it up for free" Dean grumbled, finishing his whisky. His ears pricked when he heard a soft creak from upstairs. Moving to the door, he looked up to the darkness at the top of the stairs but saw nothing. Shaking his head, he moved back into the living room, closing the door behind him.

 **oOo**

Cloaked in the blackness of the landing, Soulless smiled grimly to himself. This is what he had been waiting for.

He knew what he had to do.

 **oOo**

 **Please review!**


	14. Maybe It's Just a Dream

**Apologies again for the delay; pesky life getting in the way! Work can be so inconvenient…**

 **oOo**

Rain battered forcefully against the window panes, slipping in rivulets down the glass, pooling in small puddles on the ledges below. Dismal bruised clouds filled the sky and darkened the ground, refusing to allow any glimmer of sunlight through. Even though it was nearly 7:30 and dawn had broken hours beforehand, the world was still full of shadow.

Dean rubbed sleep from his eye with the palm of his hand as he wandered across the landing to the room where they had left Sam. He'd checked on his baby brother before he'd gone to sleep, satisfied that he was asleep and alright. When the hunter pushed the door open this time though, the bed was empty. Panic spiked through him, clawing at him instantly.

"Sam?" He called, dashing down the stairs. His hand grasped the handrail tightly as he swung himself around to face the doors to the living room. His eyes landed on the broad form of his brother who was sat, nose in a book, at Bobby's desk. Dean's heart slowed. What the hell was he panicking for? It wasn't like Sam was going anywhere – why would he? His brother looked up as he stepped into the room. Dean did a quick once over of him: noted the bright look in his eyes, the lack of bags under them. Weirdly, Sam looked more rested than he had in months. "How you feeling?"

"Fine" Soulless replied, his eyes flickering up to look at Dean briefly before returning to the book in front of him. Taken aback, Dean frowned.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Dean, I'm sure. Honestly" he repeated as Dean hovered over him. He grabbed Dean's hand, holding it to his forehead briefly. "See? No fever – I slept for nearly six hours which, let's face it, is unheard of most days. I couldn't be better."

Confusion filled the older Winchester. He hadn't really known what to expect after yesterday – Sam to be wiped out for days? More fits?

He wasn't prepared for…this. For normality. It was weird.

"Okay…so do you wanna explain what you were talkin' about before you collapsed yesterday? Bobby said you mentioned demons" Dean pressed, watching his brother carefully. Soulless affected a look of confusion, almost as if he was having trouble thinking back.

"I'm not really sure. My hallucinations got pretty bad yesterday – Lucifer, Crowley, a whole load of others. I couldn't work out whether they were real or not. It all got…too much just before I went down" he lied smoothly, the words dripping off his tongue more easily than the truth ever could. Gulping down the last of his coffee, he pushed the mug to one side and stood up. "Look, I've got a few errands to run; you need anything while I'm out?"

"What kind of errands?"

"The kind where we've run out of beer and a load of other stuff. Stop worrying – I. Am. Fine" he reiterated, grabbing his jacket. He patted Dean's shoulder as he walked past, leaving the older Winchester to his thoughts. His gut rolled uncomfortably, instincts murmuring silently inside him.

Something just didn't feel right.

It was ridiculous; he was just paranoid. Spending so much time worrying about his brother was making Dean look for things that just weren't there. He shook his head, making his way to the coffee pot.

 **oOo**

Sam sat against the wall, tugging uselessly at the manacles for what felt like the hundredth time. He had scrutinised the metal bands, every link in the chain and the wall attachment, without luck. He hadn't found a single mark, a single crack. Not that he really expected to. He'd planted his feet against the wall and pulled with everything he had – to no avail. He'd focused his attention on the manacles in the same way that had allowed him to make the door appear in the panic room. It didn't work. Soulless was right; he wasn't strong enough.

He had screamed himself hoarse for hours after Soulless had disappear, mostly out of frustration and the hope that his double found it really irritating. He wasn't above being petulant, particularly in these circumstances.

The screen had come on almost instantly once he was alone, complete with sound. He had watched Soulless talk to Dean, Bobby and Cas; heard him lie that he wanted to sleep, watched him sneak out and eavesdrop on their conversation about Lucifer. Soulless had pretended to sleep when Dean came to check on him a short time later before prowling around the room, waiting for Bobby to go to bed as well.

Sam had observed helplessly as Soulless tore his way through Bobby's library, perusing a seemingly random number of books. Sam read everything he did but couldn't tell what he was actually looking for. The books ranged from everything from demon lore to spells. Soulless even dug out John Winchester's journal from the Impala.

By the time Dean had appeared, panicked and breathless in the door, Soulless seemed to be nearly at the end of his search. He had made a list of several different ingredients, none of which seemed related to each other, that he concealed discretely in his pocket when Dean caught his attention. Listening to the entire exchange between his brother and his double, hearing Soulless lie with such effortless ease, filled Sam with dread. Once again, Dean couldn't see what was wrong.

As Soulless got up to leave, Sam dropped his head into his hands, defeated. There was nothing he could do.

 **oOo**

"Will you sit down before you walk a hole in my floor" Bobby barked, eyeballing Dean from beneath the peak of his baseball cap. He was sat at the table in the kitchen, coffee within arm's reach, newspaper open in front of him. His multitude of phones had been ringing frequently throughout the morning: Garth needing the FBI and two other hunters requesting the CDC. It had been a busy morning. Dean had helped him start some research on Garth's case – a succubus in Atlanta – before prowling around the living room restlessly. Had he not recognised the concern in Dean's irritating behaviour, the old hunter would've sent him out hours ago. Usually Dean was quite forthcoming with airing his worries with Bobby unless he thought they were ridiculous. Of course, Dean never liked admitting he was worried, therefore getting to the bottom of it was usually a longwinded battle. Bobby gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit down and tell me what's rollin' round in that melon of yours."

Dean dropped into the seat, his shoulder sagging, expression grim. His knee bounced a rhythm of its own beneath the table as his deft fingers rotated his phone aimlessly. Bobby had lost count of the number of times he'd seen Dean check in the last hour alone.

"Something's not right with Sam, Bobby; I can feel it."

"Hell, we all know that, boy. That ain't nothin' new."

"No, I mean _really_ wrong. There's been so much weird shit happenin' in the last few weeks that I just can't place my finger on" Dean insisted, levelling Bobby with green eyes that were full of turmoil.

"Like what?"

"Like what happened with that gnome. Sam said that the gnome got the drop on me and he stabbed it. Thing is, I don't get how it could've got the drop on me – and that's not just me being arrogant. I remember it comin' at me with a hammer and breaking the wood I was holding. The next thing I know, I'm wakin' up on the floor with Sam hovering over me."

"What're you suggestin'?"

Dean hesitated. "It sounds nuts, but I think I was hit by Sam."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Bobby asked, frowning. Dean shrugged, flinging his phone on the table and staring at it.

"Ain't gotta clue. But think about it – I was hit in the side of the head. How is a _gnome_ wielding a hammer even gonna reach that high without whackin' me anywhere lower down? I know I'm hard-headed, but even I'm not gonna survive a blow to the head with a hammer."

"Have you asked Sam?"

"Yeah and he just said that I probably lost some memory 'cause of the hit."

"He does have a point but then so do you" Bobby conceded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "That's not a lot to go on though."

"Ok, so get this: when I came to, he was adamant about gettin' the hell outta dodge," Dean raised a hand when Bobby started to interrupt, "we hadn't got the kids out yet. That ain't like Sam – he's always been about the vics first."

"Dean, he's got a helluva lot goin' on in his head; we don't know had bad it really is in there. Death said that he wouldn't like what he found if that damned wall came down. He's copin' a lot better than I think we give him credit for. You can't blame everything unusual on somethin' _unusual_. Sometimes blue's just blue; no hidden meanings, nothin'" Bobby replied, trying to rationalise the older Winchester's worries. He knew what Dean was like – once he had an idea in his head, he wasn't likely to drop it.

"I dunno, Bobby. Even if that stuff hadn't happened there's just somethin'…off. I catch these looks he has sometimes and it stops me cold."

"Look, we'll just keep a closer eye on him when he gets back, alright? Worst case, we get that angel of yours to look at him."

Dean nodded; the old hunter's solution was logical. He pushed himself up from the chair. "I'm gonna go work over the Impala. Sitting around is drivin' me crazy."

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief; he hated seeing the boys restless. At least if Dean was outside, he could concentrate. He turned back to his newspaper, mulling over what Dean had said as the back door slammed.

 **oOo**

The rain bulleted against the corrugated roof of the lean-to that Dean was working under. It hadn't stopped raining since before dawn, leaving the ground a sludgy mess that left streaks of mud on Dean's boots and splashes on his jeans. He had cranked up the radio to compete with the noise of the rain, the pattering on the roof providing a soothing beat to accompany the current bout of Black Sabbath floating through the air.

Dean's upper body was bent over the engine casings, his right hand lost down inside the inner workings of the Impala. Black grease was smudged across his knuckles and up his arm; some had even made its way onto his cheek where he had brushed a hand over his face. The rumble of an approaching engine interrupted the rain and Black Sabbath. Dean looked up as one of Bobby's battered Plymouth Road Runners splashed through the ever-growing puddles. It was one of the Singer Auto Yard's more useful traits: being able to take an extra car without having to hotwire it first. The Plymouth slowed and stopped next to the Impala, its blue sides streaked brown with mud and grit from the road.

Soulless extricated himself from it as Dean straightened, wiping his greased hands on a rag. The younger Winchester leaned back into the car, pulling a bag from the passenger seat.

"Get everythin' you needed?" Dean asked, throwing the rag on the metal rack he was using as a work bench.

"Nearly. Got everything we need to summon Crowley plus more beer before Bobby starts moaning at us again" he replied. He nodded towards the Impala. "You blowin' off steam?"

"Yeah…too much research; y'know me. Bobby's inside – I'll be in in a while" Dean murmured. He watched his brother walk back towards the house, rain dripping from the ends of his long hair. His gut gave another uneasy twinge; the way it usually did when trouble was on its way. What was so wrong about that conversation? It was perfectly normal. Dean threw the spanner that he was still clutching forcefully into his toolbox. Sam was as fine as he was going to be. He was paranoid; it was ridiculous.

But then, how did he know about summoning Crowley?

 **oOo**

 _"Et ad congregandum…eos coram me."_ Dean recited as he let the blood from his clenched fist dribble into the bowl on the table, dropping the lit match into it with his other hand. The three of them stood in a line together, facing the summoning bowl and the rest of the living room.

"We really must stop meeting like this; people will talk" Crowley commented drily as he appeared in the middle of the room. His black suit was impeccable as always, his hands resting lightly in the pockets of his overcoat. Dean rolled his eyes.

"We need information."

"You always _need_ something, Squirrel. It's always take, take, take with you. I'm starting to feel used."

"Don't flatter yourself," Dean growled, his lip curling. "Look, Cas did some digging on what you said. There's nothing in the angel lore about Lucifer and Amara besides what we already knew. So if it's not to do with the angels-"

"You assume it's to do with demons" Crowley finished, grinning at Dean's glare over being interrupted.

"What do you know about Lucifer?" Bobby asked.

"Fallen angel, father of demons, big jackass, blah blah blah. Not someone I really want out and about any time in the next millennia."

"What does the whole 'father of demons' thing actually mean? What did he make you out of?" Dean probed. Crowley sighed and shrugged.

"The same way you make any demon. Torture a human soul until it gets corrupted beyond repair. Lucifer would've been in a particularly foul mood when daddy dearest threw him out. I would presume his flavour of torture was particularly…imaginative."

"And there's nothing more to it than that? You sure?" Bobby pressed further. It didn't sound like any kind of information that they could actually use. The old hunter was getting tired of useless leads that didn't get them anywhere; it seemed to be the story behind this entire saga.

"I'll have some of my people look into it. Is that it?" Crowley finished, looking from Bobby to Dean who looked taken aback.

"Uh, yeah, I guess" Dean replied.

"Good because I do actually have better things to do than run around doing your job for you" Crowley remarked drily, looking pointedly at Soulless, giving him a slight nod. He snapped his fingers, vanishing instantly. Dean shook his head; the demon was insufferable. Crowley wasn't usually that abrupt either unless he actually was busy. Dean dreaded to think what he was busy doing. He watched his brother leave, heading for the bathroom before turning back to Bobby.

"So what do we do now? We can't just wait around in case Crowley decides that he feels like droppin' us a line on what his lot dig up." Bobby opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when the tell-tale flutter of wings announced Cas' arrival. Both he and Dean looked at the angel in surprise, his usually stern expression even more harrowed than usual.

"I need your help."

 **oOo**

 **Hope it was worth the wait! Leave your thoughts at the door :)**


	15. Hiding in the Dark

**Thank you for all your kind and encouraging words!**

 **oOo**

"I need your help." Castiel's deep bass tone was grave, a distinct lack of humour engulfing his whole being. In fact, Dean hadn't seen him so grim since their dealings with the apocalypse. It put every nerve on edge within Dean instantly.

"What's happened?" he asked, Crowley forgotten.

"A good friend of mine – her name is Meriel – has gone missing. She's stationed at Green Bay where she monitors Lake Michigan. Keeping the balance between the lake and the land is her responsibility" Cas explained, fixing Dean with his unblinking stare.

"How do you know she's missin' and not just off somewhere? You guys do have a habit of goin' wherever you want" the older Winchester pointed out. He shifted uncomfortably, memories of all the times Cas having popped up at precisely the wrong moment entering his mind.

"She isn't supposed to leave; there's no plausible reason why she would. The only other place she would be likely to go is heaven and they are the ones who informed me of her disappearance."

"Okay, so who's got the juice to nab an angel?"

"The most obvious person I can assume it would be is Amara" Cas stated, his jaw tight.

"What would she want with an angel?" Bobby asked, frowning.

"She has made no effort to hide her distaste of us so I can only assume she wants something that she thinks she can use to locate God" Cas replied. Dean chewed his lip, hissing quietly through his teeth. If Amara was on a God-hunt, that didn't bode well for any of them. "I managed to do a basic location spell, but it only gave me a loose approximation of her location. I can only assume angel warding has been used to conceal her."

"Where?"

"Davenport. If there is angel warding, I won't be able to get in" Cas pointed out. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well duh. Bobby, you keep lookin' into Amara – see if there's anythin' that can help us now or with getting' rid of her. SAM! Hurry up; we gotta go!" Dean shouted, grabbing his jacket. He paused when he got no reply. "Sam!" He glanced at Bobby and Castiel, walking out through the living room door. He headed to the bathroom, noting that the door was ajar. He pushed it open fully, revealing the room to be empty. Turning, he dashed up the stairs, calling his brother's name.

Every room was empty.

"Dammit, Sammy; we don't have time for your bullshit" he growled, pulling his phone out and dialling Sam's number. He stood still on the landing, listening to the phone ring with growing frustration.

"Dean?" Bobby called. Dean looked over the landing railing to see Bobby stood with Sam's buzzing phone held aloft in his hand. The hunter swore, pressing end call on his phone. He bounded down the stairs, rushing past Bobby and out of the front door. He ran around to where he'd left the Impala, the feelings of unease and panic building in his chest. He skidded to a halt round the corner, eyes landing on the Impala which was still exactly where he'd left it. Thank god.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief which caught in his throat, nearly choking him, when his eyes moved beyond his baby. The blue Plymouth, the one Sam had taken earlier, was gone.

"Son of a bitch!"

 **oOo**

The door slammed so hard that it reverberated throughout the house, making the doorframe shudder. Dean stalked in, his face like thunder. Bobby sighed; this wasn't what they needed right now. What was Sam thinking?

"What do you want to do Dean?" he asked quietly, saddened by the war raging in the hunter's eyes. Every instinct he had was clearly screaming at him to go after his brother. Couple that with his feelings of unease and Bobby was surprised that Dean had even come back in. Yet, his loyalty to Cas was also evident; he needed help and Dean wouldn't let him down. Dean blew out a breath, running both his hands through his hair as he visibly worked to calm himself and think logically. It was times like this that he wished they didn't have the angel-proof rib carvings.

"Bobby, go with Cas. Sam can't have got far – if I'm fast I should be able to track him down."

"How will you know which way he went?" Cas asked.

"'Cause I know my brother," Dean replied. He grabbed the keys to the Impala from the kitchen table. "I'll meet up with you as soon as I can." Bobby and Cas nodded their assent, heading out of the door with Dean.

Bobby and Cas separated from Dean as he rushed towards the Impala, jumping in and swinging it around quickly before flooring it. The backend fishtailed on the mud before straightening and gaining speed. Bobby led the way to his '71 Chevelle, throwing his bag in the trunk. Cas slid into the passenger seat, waiting seemingly patiently for Bobby to get in. Tension was rife within the car as Bobby pulled away but both remained silent.

Sam would be alright; he always was.

 **oOo**

Sam was far from alright. Soulless had ignored him ever since he had left him; it was as though Sam didn't even exist. That wasn't exactly true: during their conversation outside, Soulless had mentioned to Crowley that he wanted something that would banish his soul-counterpart permanently. Crowley had chuckled, goading Sam from the outside, delighted by the knowledge that he was trapped inside himself.

He has listened to the rest of their conversation with absolute horror. The levels Soulless was going to were just…insane. Completely psychopathic.

Crowley had left, leaving Soulless to disappear on his own. Sam watched as he went to the blue Plymouth, moving it down one of the numerous lanes filled with cars in the auto yard, completely obscured from the house and Impala. Soulless had moved onto Bobby's Chevelle, grabbing a screwdriver and plunging it into the gas tank underneath the car. Fuel trickled out slowly, seeping into the already sodden ground.

Finally, Soulless had hidden himself up inside a rusted husk of a car where he could watch the house without being seen. Sam had watched, mystified, as Dean, Bobby and Castiel rushed from the house; Dean heading straight to the Impala and rushing off as Bobby and Cas took the Chevelle. What the hell was going on?

Soulless waited patiently, staying inside the car for another half an hour before jumping out swiftly and heading to the Plymouth. He drove out of the auto yard, heading right, away from Dean. Sam sighed, grappling half-heartedly with the manacles once again. There was nothing else he could do.

 **oOo**

 **I-90, outskirts of Chamberlain, South Dakota**

Dean had floored the Impala, driving well over the speed limit – and his own limits – for over two hours. He had no real idea where Sam would head and, without his cell phone, he couldn't track him. All of their disposable phones were in the glove compartment of the Impala. Dean hadn't felt this hopeless since Sam had been possessed, going missing for over a week years ago. He had exhausted every resource he had had at that time. Yet, finding Sam this time shouldn't be as hard; finding him before had been near enough impossible because Meg had been in control and therefore was unpredictable. Sam was still Sam and Dean knew his habits instinctively. At least, he did before Sam had been to hell and had the devil riding shotgun in his head.

The more his drove, the less convinced Dean was that he was on the right road.

Even if Sam had been driving over the speed limit, the Plymouth had nothing on the power of the Impala. There had been no major turn offs so Dean should've passed Sam by now. This just didn't make any sense.

His phone buzzed against his leg. He yanked it out of his pocket and held it to his ear, eyes fixed on the road.

"Yeah?"

"Dean, we've gotta problem" Bobby's voice floated down the phone.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his hand gripping the steering wheel tightly. What else was going to go wrong?

"We're outta fuel in the backend of nowhere" Bobby grumbled.

"So? Just get Cas to go get a can and come back."

"Oh gee, thanks. I hadn't thought of that, had I, Sherlock?" Bobby barked, sarcasm dripping down the phone like acid. "That ain't the problem, boy. Car was fulla gas when we left; now it's completely empty. I checked the chassis and found a screwdriver embedded in my tank. Damn thing's been leaking since I left."

"What the hell?"

"Exactly. Someone didn't want us getting far. You find Sam?"

"No and if I was gonna catch him up, I would've done it by now" Dean growled, frustrated. "Look, where are you? I'll come to you; there's no point me being on this goose chase on my own."

"We're on the I-29 just outside of Omaha." Dean groaned; that was miles from where he was.

"Sit tight; I'll get there as soon as I can." Dean hung up, throwing his phone onto the empty seat beside him. Checking the mirrors, he smoothly turned the car, tyres squealing, in a perfect U-turn before racing back down the I-90.

 **oOo**

 **I-29, outskirts of Omaha, South Dakota**

It had taken Dean a little over four hours to get to Bobby and Cas. Four hours of Motorhead turned up to an almost deafening level to block out the worry and panic that skittered continuously through his mind. He had imagined all the things he was going to do to Sam when he found him – he _would_ find him – and that provided a small amount of satisfaction. Crazy or not, Sam had gone too far this time. Above all, he was going to do every sort of test he could think of on his brother; Dean knew his uneasiness was now justified – Sam would never just disappear so thoughtlessly.

The rain had long since cleared up, the warm South Dakota sun lifting the moisture from the road, leaving all but the deepest puddles bone dry again. The clouds were barely visible on the horizon to his left, passing over the numerous fields of green that glistened warmly. In the distance, Dean could see a lone car pulled up on the side of the road. _Finally_ , he thought, slowing the Impala as he gained on the stationary vehicle. Bobby's Chevelle was easily recognisable with its horrifically rusting exterior flaking badly; it was probably one of the few cars on the road that would never reflect sunlight ever again. Dean honestly didn't know why he didn't just rip it apart for spares and use another car he had in the yard.

The old hunter was sat on the bank beside the car, staring out at the fields, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He turned his head when he heard the familiar snarl of the Impala's engine. He hauled himself up, dusting off his jeans. His knees cracked in protest after being sat in the same position for so long. Dean met him at the end of the Chevelle, immediately dropping to his knees to peer underneath the car. His eyes fixed on the blue handle of the screwdriver that was dangling from the bottom of the fuel tank. He was amazed it was still stuck in there.

"Where's Cas?" he asked, straightening up.

"Gone ahead to Davenport to see if he can get a lead on wherever Meriel is," Bobby explained as he pulled his bag from the trunk of the Chevelle. "We can come back for this when we're done." They headed back to the Impala, closing the creaking doors as Dean fired it up again. He turned the wheel with the palm of his hand, heading out towards the I-80.

Bobby watched him carefully, taking in the tension in Dean's jaw, the way his eyes were glued to the road ahead. The corded muscles in his forearms stood out under his skin as he gripped the steering wheel too tightly. Everything about him screamed tension. Of all the hunters Bobby had known, past and present, Dean had the best instincts. His gut feelings were rarely wrong. "That was no accident, Dean" Bobby said quietly.

"I know."

"So what are we sayin' happened?" the old hunter asked, dismay filling him.

"We need to know the facts first. But there's one thing we do know; you only sabotage a car if you don't want to be followed" Dean remarked, his voice tight.

"But why my car? That don't make a lick of sense. If it was Sam-"

"We don't know that."

"– _If_ it was – and I'm not sayin' it was – it'd make more sense to damage the Impala. He'd know you'd be the one to follow him."

"I don't know. I wish I did but until we find him, we ain't gonna know. I'm not gonna spend the next few hours playin' the 'let's guess what Sammy's thinkin' game'."

"What if he don't wanna be found?"

"I don't care what he wants. I will find him" Dean snarled. "The sooner we get this angel stuff sorted, the sooner we can find him."

 **oOo**

 **Davenport, Iowa**

The blue letters of the Knights Inn Motel blazed against the blinding white background, glaring out into the darkness. The sign below flashed 'rooms available' on and off constantly in red. Bobby exited the reception, heading to room seven. Dean trailed behind him from the Impala, his phone glued to his ear.

"The Knights Inn. It's on North-"

"Brady Street. I know, Dean" Castiel finished for him, his own phone still pressed against his ear. Dean hung up, motioning for Cas to follow him. The angel fell into step beside him, entering the small motel room after him.

The room was small, considering it was a twin, with one of the most eye-watering carpets Dean had ever seen. It was the colour of dried mud with cream branches spreading through it haphazardly in thick coils. It contrasted horribly with the faded crimson, blue and gold comforters that were draped over the ends of the beds. A gap in the wall led directly to the bathroom sink, no door visible, with the actual bathroom hidden around the corner.

Dean dumped his things on the bed closest to the door before heading to the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror, tired eyes staring back at him. He'd driven for well over ten hours that afternoon and evening. Coupled with the worry that had been ringing through him and he was exhausted. He turned the faucet, cupping his hand underneath it. He splashed the warm water over his face, trying to rub the tired ache from behind his eyes. He shut off the tap, grabbing a towel to dry his face as he turned back to Cas and Bobby.

"Have you found anything?"

"I think I've narrowed our search to a farm to the west of the city. There are some barns and outhouses that I cannot see in. I suggest we start there" Castiel explained. Dean nodded once, hard.

"Let's go."

"Wait. Don't you think we're rushin'? There's no point goin' in half-cocked and getting' done in" Bobby countered, standing in front of the door.

"We ain't gonna know what we're dealin' with 'til we're there. We can make a plan then" Dean answered. Bobby sighed and moved out of the way, following Dean out the door. Cas frowned, unsettled by the obvious tension rolling in waves off of Dean. He said nothing, knowing better than trying to stop the Winchester when he was on a single track mission.

They drove in silence, Bobby in the front seat, Cas leaning forward between the two of them. He spoke only to give directions. The bright streetlights gave way to darkness as they travelled out of Davenport. The lights of the Impala glowed through the blackness, highlighting the road and the sparse patches of greenery on the sides of the road. The further out they got, the less traffic they saw.

"There" Cas pointed. To their right a single track headed off of the main road, flanked by fields encased in fences. They could just about make out the dark silhouettes of several large buildings against the black night sky. Dean killed the headlights, rolling the car to a stop on the side of the road. He cut the engine, plunging them into complete silence. They sat for a moment, listening. It was as though the world around them was a separate universe, devoid of anything. It was too quiet for Dean's liking. He opened his door, wincing at the squeal it made, shutting it quietly. He headed to the trunk, perusing the array of weaponry he had stored inside as Cas and Bobby joined him. He passed Bobby a flashlight, machete and shotgun, taking the demon knife, a second light and a handgun for himself. Closing the lid gently, he turned towards the farm entrance, flanked by the hunter and angel.

The driveway to the farm was little more than a dirt track, two deep groves lining it from years of heavy machinery passing along it. Bobby expected to hear some of the usual nightlife that accompanied rural settings, but there was nothing – not even crickets. It was unsettling. Their flashlights shone small circles on the ground, helping them steer clear of deep holes and large stones. They switched them off as they got closer to the buildings, loathe to give away their presence. Dean signalled to Bobby with his arm, pointing to an outhouse off to their right. Bobby nodded and slunk off in that direction. Cas stayed with Dean as they moved silently towards a barn to their left.

"Is it warded?" Dean whispered, his voice barely more than breath shaped into words.

"Yes" Cas replied, just as quietly. Dean ran his hands along the wall, fingertips searching for the door. He stopped when he found it, pressing his ear to the wood, listening. He couldn't hear anything. His hand travelled down to find the handle. Easing the door open, he poked his head in, straining his ears. Still nothing. He risked a quick flash of his light, illuminating the entire barn.

It was empty.

Turning the light on properly, he shone it around at the whole room. Besides the usual tools and bales that you found in farm barns, it was empty. He shone the light up the walls, taking out the demon knife when he spotted the tell-tale Enochian symbols that warded the room against angels. He scraped off the edge of it with his knife, Cas instantly entering the space. The angel shook his head, confirming that this wasn't the right place. That was odd; why ward somewhere and not use it?

They headed out again as Bobby reached them, shrugging; his was a dead end too. They moved around the building together, heading to the largest barn around the back. Dean and Bobby moved to either side of the barn's double doors, weapons raised defensively. Cas laid a hand on Dean's arm, halting him.

"Do you smell that?" He whispered. Dean inhaled sharply, wincing at the odour that invaded his senses. It was faint, but it was there.

"Sulphur" Bobby murmured, clenching his machete tighter. He nodded to Dean who yanked the door open, knife raised. He stood in the doorway, listening again. He repeated his movements from the last barn, but nothing revealed itself. The sulphuric stench was stronger within. Bobby entered behind him, flashlight rising up the walls to find the warding. When he found one of the symbols, he scraped it off, allowing Cas to enter.

Dean moved forward into the barn, flashlight and knife still both raised. A figured sat in the centre of the room before him, slouched forward in a hardwood chair. Long brunette hair was draped across the person's face, their arms resting gently on the arms of the chair. As he moved closer, he realised there was nothing peaceful about the figure. Blood stained the tattered shirt, seeping through huge holes in the material. Cords of wire were wrapped around their wrists, digging in painfully tight into skin that was raw. Dean crouched down, lifting the figure's head with one hand to reveal the anguished face of a girl in her late twenties. He grimaced as her head lolled back, revealing a gaping maw in her neck. Her blue eyes were wide and unseeing, filled with the agony of her death.

"Is it her?" he asked as Cas approached, his face grim.

"Yes, it's Meriel" he replied quietly, looking down at her sorrowfully. He studied the wound at her neck, the wounds in her torso. He reached down, closing her eyes with two fingers. Dean straightened, looking around.

"What the hell, man? Why would a demon kill an angel?"

"That is a very good question" Cas remarked, frowning as he looked closer as Meriel. He leaned in, studying her wounds.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. There's just something…strange about some of these wounds."

"Strange how?"

"They don't all appear to have been made with an angel blade. I would assume that if you wanted to torture an angel, you would stick with the weapon that was going to cause the most amount of pain. For us, that's the angel blade. In fact, the only wound that was actually inflicted using one of our blades is the stab wound to her heart" Cas explained as he examined her closely. Dean didn't even want to know how he could tell the difference.

"Okay…so a clueless demon. What's the bettin' that Crowley still knows something about it?" Dean muttered, his face dark. They were never going to be able to trust that damned demon.

"Highly likely."

"I think it's about time we had another chat with our old _friend_ " Bobby said gruffly, his eyes hard as flint.

 **oOo**

 **I will be working on getting the next chapter done asap but I'm away for a few days and I'm not sure how much writing time I'll get. Rest assured I will do my upmost to post soon. Please review!**


	16. I Hate What I've Become

**I hope this is worth the wait – enjoy!**

 **oOo**

Crowley felt the usual mental tug of a summon, pulling at him incessantly. Typical. Every time he had five minutes to himself, _someone_ wanted him. All he wanted was a bloody massage – not exactly a lot in the grand scheme of things. He sighed, shrugging on his signature black overcoat before succumbing to the pull of the summoning.

It was a strange sensation even when compared to his usual ability to travel wherever he liked. Summoning was akin to being pulled and pushed in all directions at the same time, an uncomfortable pressure enveloping his chest, squeezing him tightly. Crowley assumed it was a lot like riding a rollercoaster, just less enjoyable. The whole thing was done blind too; he had no idea where he was going to end up or with who. He had learned to perfect his blasé attitude that always gave the summoner the impression that he was expecting them to call.

He landed, with an abrupt whooshing feeling, in a cool barn. It was full of shadows flickering in the dim camping lights that were strategically placed around the open space, illuminating the interior with a cold blue glow. He instantly took in the scene: the body sat slumped in a chair, dead; the broken angel warding on the walls and, finally, the three figures of Dean, Castiel and Bobby facing him over a flaming bowl. He also felt the all-too-familiar physical drain that could only be down to one thing. He glanced down, displeased.

"Is that really necessary? I thought we'd got past all this devil's trap nonsense" he whined, annoyed. Dean stood in front of him on the edge of the painted devil's trap, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. He jerked his chin in Meriel's direction.

"Care to explain what the hell you're doin' killing angels?" he growled, voice hard and gruff but Crowley detected an underlying exhaustion that hadn't been there the last time they'd spoken.

"No," Crowley retorted, shrugging. Cas scowled at him. "I don't need to explain myself to you."

"If you want out of that trap, you will" Bobby threatened. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Always with the dramatics. Honestly, boys, you should know how this goes by now. Yes, we may both want Amara dead but that doesn't mean we have the same methods for getting rid of her."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would you think Meriel had anything to do with Amara?" Cas asked, his brow furrowed. He clearly didn't believe Crowley.

"Sometimes it's worth exploring all options before going right to the end game. I do the things you lot are too… _nice_ to do."

"Killing my brothers and sisters is not an ' _option_ '" Cas fumed, his fists clenched.

"Well what's done is done. If it's any consolation, I have no plans to use any more angels. Happy?"

Cas opened his mouth to retort, stopping when Dean placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You go after the angels again and we'll come after you, got it? Stick to lookin' into the demon lore" Dean instructed.

"I'm not your bloody lackey; I'm the King of Hell! What I do is my business, not yours. If you want my help looking into _my_ lore, you'll break this trap and stay out of my way. As it is, I imagine you have more pressing matters than worrying about my antics."

"What do you mean by that?" Bobby asked, curiously. Crowley gestured around the barn.

"I don't see Moose hiding in any corners and you don't usually let him out on his own, particularly when he's off his rocker. Ergo, I can only assume he's done a runner. Not going well for you, is it?"

Dean clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to retaliate by either punching the demon or verbally bashing him. Instead, he bent down, scraping his knife over the red painted edge of the devil's trap, effectively freeing Crowley. The demon walked out, heading to the door. He looked over his shoulder, smirking. "Be seeing you."

He stepped out into the clear night air, a deep scowl on his face. Why was everyone so damned incompetent? He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and dialling quickly. He pressed it to his ear as he walked away from the barn.

"Did I or did I not expressly tell you that I didn't want her dead? Do you know how difficult it is to catch an angel off guard? Screw up again and you'll be my new experiment and, believe me, you won't enjoy it half as much as I will" he barked down the phone, pressing end call as soon as he'd ranted.

Idiots.

 **oOo**

"I'm sorry, Cas" Dean murmured as the angel prepared Meriel's body. He had closed her eyes, laying her body out gently on the floor ready to be transported back to heaven. Castiel met his eye and nodded, appreciative of the gesture. Bobby stood off to one side, his phone pressed to his ear. He spoke quickly, an eager look on his face when he hung up and approached the other two.

"That was Jodie Mills; I called her after I broke down and asked her to keep an eye out for that Plymouth of mine. She said it was spotted on a traffic camera just outside of Clear Lake about ten minutes ago" he explained. "If we want any chance of catching him, we need to hurry."

Dean nodded. "Cas, could you come back to Bobby's when you're done upstairs?"

"Of course" Cas replied, bending to scoop up Meriel's frail frame. With a flutter, he was gone.

"Let's go" Dean instructed, heading out of the door. He was back in single track mind mode; he would find his brother.

 **oOo**

 **Clear Lake, Iowa**

Soulless grabbed the soiled shirt from the table, wiping his hands deftly, streaking the material red. The derelict house was another one of the Winchester's typical choices; rundown, abandoned and far away from eavesdropping neighbours. The walls were shattered and grey, the wooden cladding beneath poking through several different holes. The floor was littered with debris and rubbish left by squatters who had taken shelter there in the past.

He turned cold slate-grey eyes towards the trembling figure sat in a rickety wooden chair in the middle of what used to be the living room. She glanced up at him through bloodied matts of hair, gazing balefully as Soulless finished scrubbing her blood from between his fingers.

"I've told you everything you wanted…please…no more" she whispered through cracked and bleeding lips, her voice hoarse. She flexed the remaining fingers she had, scrabbling pitifully against the hardwood armrests.

Soulless stared down at her, his face completely expressionless. Considering he had been torturing her almost relentlessly for hours, he showed little exhaustion and even less remorse. It's not like she wasn't evil; she was a witch. Witches deserved to die.

He continued to stare at her, his gaze intensifying. She shuddered, eyes bulging as she choked. Her face reddened, arteries in her neck rising to the surface of her skin. Her eyes rolled involuntarily – agonisingly – into the back of her skull as blood frothed on her lips.

All the while Soulless simply stared at her.

With one final convulsion, her body slumped lifelessly in the chair, eyes, ears and mouth dribbling blood in a steady stream. Soulless stepped forward, pressing two fingers against her neck just to check.

He was a lot stronger; this was good.

He threw the bloodied shirt on the body; he would burn the lot later. His ears pricked when he heard a creak coming from within the house. Damn rats – the house was crawling with them. Still, Soulless was nothing if not thorough. He edged to the doorway, treading lightly. He was weaponless; he didn't need them. He stopped.

Silence.

He lingered for a moment, unwilling to pursue something that wasn't there. Satisfied that there was nothing there, he turned to go back to the living room.

"Hi, Sammy" was the last thing he heard as he saw Dean's fist flying towards his face. He crumpled into an unconscious heap. Bobby appeared from around the corner.

"Seriously, Dean? Now we have to lug his giant carcass to the car!" he groaned. Dean shrugged.

"He deserved it."

 **oOo**

 **Bobby's House, Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

The first sensation he felt as awareness floated back to him was annoyance. He should have been more prepared but his recent successes had made him overconfident. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Nor would he underestimate Dean. He didn't know how the older Winchester had found him; he has assumed the lack of phone GPS would've been enough to stop him. Apparently not.

He groaned, lifting a hand to prod the bruise that was forming on the side of his face. It was tender and would probably be an impressive purple within a few hours. Opening his eyes, he looked around to see he was on the sofa in Bobby's living room again. Dean sat on one of the wooden dining chairs, arms crossed and a deep scowl present on his stony face. Soulless dragged himself up to a sitting position, adopting a look of confusion.

"Where do I even start?" Dean growled before Soulless could even open his mouth. Great – another of his ridiculous, pointless rants. Listening to yet another one wasn't just irritating: it was time-consuming. He fought the urge to roll his eyes as Dean started rattling off his misdemeanours, using his fingers to count them off. The sooner Soulless could get along without him, the better. "…Leave your phone, you don't tell anyone where you are, you went up against a witch _alone_. What the hell were you thinking, Sammy? Were you even thinking?"

Oh god, Dean actually wanted him to participate. It was moments like this that swapping out with Sam had been useful. It was a shame he couldn't do that anymore. He cleared his throat, acutely aware of Dean's suspicious, scrutinising gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry, ok? I had things I needed to take care of" he muttered. Dean's eyes narrowed.

"That's it?"

"What more do you want?"

"I wanna know why you wouldn't tell me where you were goin'! I wanna know why you're gettin' weirder and weirder. What. Is. Goin'. On?"

"It's complicated. I think I have found a way to sort out some of the issues I've been having." Not exactly a lie. He had found one definite and one theory; he just needed to implement them. To do that, Dean needed to back off.

"That's not good enough Sam. I've not even convinced you're… _you_ at the moment."

 _Shit._

"What the hell does that mean?" Soulless growled, affecting anger. This couldn't be happening – not now. Dean stood up, grabbing a knife and a bottle from Bobby's desk.

"Hold out your arm" the older Winchester instructed, his gaze hard. Soulless rolled his eyes as his turned up his shirt sleeve.

"This is ridiculous."

"That it may be, but I'd rather be safe than not" Dean responded, dragging the knife across his brother's forearm. Blood welled from the cut, but nothing else happened. He uncapped the bottle, dowsing the cut with holy water, washing the blood off. Again, nothing.

"Satisfied?" Soulless asked, grabbing a cloth to hold against the cut on his arm.

"Not yet" Dean replied as Cas entered the living room from the kitchen.

"What the hell is this?" Soulless demanded, his fist tightening on the cloth on his arm. Cas stepped up beside Dean, staring down at him.

"We've gotta be thorough, Sam" Dean replied, almost apologetically. He started to remove his belt from his jeans.

"Are you serious?"

"This isn't something to joke over, Sam," Cas explained as Dean held out the belt to Soulless. He stared at it coldly. "You know this isn't pleasant. You really do need to bite down on something."

"Fine" Soulless growled, snatching the belt from Dean's grasp. He squared himself, planting his feet solidly on the ground. Dean sat next to him, gripping his shoulder firmly while Cas knelt in front of him, grasping his other shoulder. He looped the belt and clenched it between his teeth. Castiel looked him in the eye.

"Ready?"

Soulless nodded.

 **oOo**

Excitement had grown in Sam as soon as he had glimpsed Dean in the house. Watching the whole exchange in Bobby's living room renewed a sense of hope that had been fading slowly. Dean knew something was wrong; it was only a matter of time! His brother was nothing if not thorough and suspicious – a winning combination at this point. He leaned forward eagerly when Dean started 'testing' him; he was like a child trying to get as close to the television to watch as he could. Not that the manacles let him get too far.

 _"We've gotta be thorough, Sam."_

Yes! This was it; Soulless was officially screwed. He watched with mounting joy as Cas and Dean readied him for the infamous 'souloscopy' as they called it.

"Sorry Sam."

He was so involved in the screen that he didn't notice Soulless until it was too late. His double grabbed the chains attached to his wrists, yanking them together behind his back with one hand. The other hand snaked around his head, clamping over his mouth tightly. He struggled wildly, cries muffled, as he was mentally thrust forward, but not enough to take over his body. It was a strange limbo; he could feel Soulless, Cas and Dean all holding him down. He could taste the leather of the belt in his mouth and the solid burning feeling as Cas' hand entered his abdomen, fingers searching.

There was no pain like it.

He howled in agony, struggling violently against the hands that held him. Cas' fingers moved inside him, scraping, poking, prodding. Slowly, his hand began to withdraw.

He was catapulted back inside himself, aware only of Soulless holding him down. Sam groaned beneath his hand, trying to shake him off. He gasped when his double's weight lifted, leaving him shaking on the floor.

 _"Well?"_ He heard his voice say.

 _"Your soul is intact; Dean, he's fine"_ Cas replied. He stood up, backing off from Soulless.

Sam just lay there. The hope that had been so strong a few minutes ago was gone. All that was left was darkness. Despair washed over him, smothering him in a suffocating blanket.

He was never going to escape.

 **oOo**

 **Please leave your thoughts at the door! :)**


	17. Feel Like a Monster

**Thank you everyone for all your lovely encouragement; I'm glad you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing! I absolutely LOVED writing this particular chapter – hope you love it too!**

 **oOo**

 _"I know nothing of your kind and I won't reveal your evil mind._

 _Is it over yet? I can't win."_

 _\- Breath, Breaking Benjamin_

 **oOo**

"If you think you've got a lead, _you tell me_. You don't go off on your own – that clear?" Dean barked, his voice barely below the level of a shout. He had watched his brother's body spasm and jerk sporadically as he heaved great breaths in, slowly recovering from Cas' soul search. It was the one experience Dean was truly glad he'd never had done. Guilt riddled him for subjecting his baby brother to it yet again. He swallowed it down, refusing to let it show. He was still pissed and that prevented any real form of sympathy from the older Winchester. Truth was, he was relieved – to an extent. They'd done the most obvious tests and his brother was in the clear. Yet that still didn't change that he was acting completely out of character. It wasn't unusual for the brothers to keep secrets from each other, but normally Sam would confide in someone. Usually Bobby. He had told the steely old hunter, who now watched him from his desk chair, absolutely nothing.

Couple all of that with the stress from the last twenty-four hours and, half an hour later, Dean was still berating him. It was his God-given right as an older brother.

"Yeah, Dean; you've made it pretty clear" Soulless replied, rubbing his stomach and wincing. Cas' soul-prod had taken a lot out of him; he needed to be on the top of his game not drained because of Dean's moronic paranoia.

"Good. 'Cause if I can't trust you to stick around, Cas can come back and take that damn angel warding off your ribs and he can track you wherever you go" Dean concluded, satisfied that his point was made when Soulless glared up at him. Somewhere deep inside, the look unnerved him.

"Look, I get it, Dean, I do. I've done your damn tests and, as Cas says, I'm fine. I made a judgement call and apparently it was the wrong one. Quit worrying; I'm not going anywhere. Do you wanna hear what I found out from the witch or not?" Soulless asked, gritting his teeth. Playing at being Sam was becoming frustrating, but pretending he was wrong – now that was just galling. His logic was flawless. Thankfully, it would all end soon.

"Well don't keep us in suspense, boy" Bobby snapped impatiently.

"I went looking for a witch because I figured they might know a spell to sort out the Denver scramble that's knockin' around in my head. She wasn't particularly cooperative, hence the scene you walked in on. I got a spell out of her eventually – one that I think might work." He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket, leaning over to hand it to Bobby. "It seems pretty standard: a few ingredients, blood of the summoner, a symbol and an old Latin incantation. Nothing we haven't done before" he explained as the old hunter looked over the ingredients.

"Nightshade, bones of a lesser saint, West Bank Witch Hazel…I've got some of this stuff but we'd need to get the rest. Pretty sure my guy in Sioux Falls'll have what we need" Bobby remarked as he folded the list, placing it in his pocket. He stood up, readjusting his worn baseball cap. "If I go now, I can get it all before nightfall."

"Why don't I go?" Dean offered. Bobby shook his head.

"'He'll haggle you out of everythin' you own before you've even given him your name. He knows better than to try it with me these days. Why don't you boys start settin' up what we need; I ain't gonna be long."

"Thanks Bobby" Soulless said, giving him a small smile. Bobby nodded, heading out through the kitchen.

Soulless scooted forward on the sofa, wincing as he moved. Dean frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder. Soulless looked up at him. Dean made a 'give it here' motion with his free hand.

"Give me whatever else you need to prep this spell. You should go rest up; Cas wigglin' his fingers around your insides ain't exactly a stroll in the park. If this spell is gonna work, you're gonna need to fire on all cylinders. I'll take care of the rest."

Soulless nodded, grabbing a piece of paper off of Bobby's desk. He drew an intricate round symbol in pencil. Its edge was unbroken with a twelve pointed star meeting the outside, a six pointed star within that one and finally a five pointed one inside that. Between the points of the outer star, he drew nine symbols, some identical, others different.

"It needs to be big enough to stand in, like a devil's trap and it needs to be done in blood."

"Of course it does" Dean sighed. When didn't weird symbols require their artwork to be done in blood?

He watched his brother leave, heading up the stairs that creaked and groaned beneath his feet. The older Winchester looked at the symbol in his hand and then at his surroundings. Bobby would kill him if he stained the wooden floors _again._ He'd moaned enough the last time they'd painted a devil's trap on the floor; while Bobby wasn't that fussy about the look of his home, he was getting tired of having to explain to the few visitors he occasionally had why there were suspiciously satanic symbols everywhere. Bobby didn't find the irony in it particularly amusing.

That left one place: the basement.

He grabbed one of Bobby's knives and headed to the door of the basement. He flicked the switch next to the inside of the door, proceeding down the rickety wooden stairs when the glow appeared below. The whole space was as cluttered as always; old equipment and objects littering every available surface. The door to the panic room was shut, its formidable outer shell both comforting and unsettling; Dean had had far too many occasions of needing that room. He honestly hoped that they'd never need it again.

He looked around for a potential space, grabbing a box full of junk and sliding it to the side of the room next to an old workbench. Shifting a few more things, he created a wide space in the corner to the side of the stairs. Grabbing a piece of chalk from one of Bobby's toolboxes, he began to sketch the symbol, checking it against his brother's drawing regularly to make sure he was doing it correctly. He'd learned long ago that most symbols were pedantic enough that one line out of place would ruin the whole thing. Putting the drawing on the floor beside him, Dean swivelled in a circle, completing the outer edge.

 **oOo**

Sam lay motionless on the floor of Soulless' room, unable to move. He hadn't stirred since his double had released him after 'faking' his soul. Dean wasn't going to look for him. Not anymore. The one thing Sam had thought would work hadn't. There was no going back. No hope.

No nothing.

All that remained was the certainty that Soulless had found a way to evict him from their body. Maybe it was for the best. To spend the rest of his life trapped inside his own mind – useless, helpless, pathetic – was the true idea of torture.

Yet, the younger Winchester continued to succumb to his personal hell. He stared dully up at the screen, gazing almost blindly at the interaction between Dean, Bobby and his body, his heart aching, throbbing. He registered Bobby leaving, barely noted Dean's continued suspicion and vaguely noticed Soulless drawing a symbol on a piece of paper.

He just lay there as Soulless went upstairs and sat on the edge of the guest bed. He didn't sleep so he was never going to get in it. He just sat there, staring at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly.

 _"It won't be long, Sam."_ He heard Soulless say. It was said quietly, almost comfortingly. It was possibly the closest his double had ever come to expressing a real emotion. Sam heard it and then truly listened. _It won't be long._

Wait…

Sam jerked upright, chains rattling. Soulless was waiting but what was he waiting for? Sam searched back through his memory, replaying the whole interaction with Dean since Cas had left. Bobby had left with the list of ingredients and then Soulless had drawn the symbol. Sam clenched his eyes shut, eyes flickering underneath their lids as he mentally compared the symbol to the ones in his memory.

His eyes snapped open.

"You bastard. No!" he howled. He had never needed to warn Dean more. He had never been less able.

 **oOo**

His hand was a bloody mess; the cut was deeper than he had intended it to be but the symbol had needed more than he'd thought. Dean clenched his hand – and his teeth – dribbling his blood over the final curve of the outer circle. The chalk beneath made the blood coating it a more vivid red in the weak light of the basement. The inner area of the circle had already started to dry; writing in blood didn't mean the floor needed to be swimming in it.

Dean got to his knees, dusting off his jeans with his uninjured hand. He grabbed the cloth he'd shoved in his back pocket, wrapping it around the cut on his hand. He looked down at the symbol, satisfied with his handiwork. The door above him opened, followed by his brother's footsteps whispering down the worn stairs. Dean frowned; he could pick out the sound of his brother's footsteps in a crowd with ease. Now, they sounded odd; Sam was heavier-footed than that. He turned as Soulless swung himself round the end of the bannister, gaze falling on the symbol on the floor.

"That look right to you?" Dean asked, motioning with his bandaged hand.

"Yeah, looks fine" Soulless confirmed, voice cold, expressionless.

Dean turned to face his brother, a startled gasp escaping his lips when he felt something hard connect with his head. It dropped him to his knees before his brother. He looked up dazed, squinting up at his brother and the butt of the shotgun he had hit him with. His brain couldn't react quickly enough; the butt of the gun came down on him again, slamming into the side of his head, dropping him instantly.

Soulless looked down at Dean's prone body, his eyes closed. He struck Dean on the head again and again; he didn't want the older Winchester waking up anytime soon. The final blow split open a cut on Dean's temple, blood oozing from the wound instantly, trickling into his eyebrow. Satisfied, Soulless put the shotgun down on the stairs carefully, ignoring the screams inside his head, and bent over Dean's unconscious form. He hooked his hands under Dean's arms, dragging him to the other side of the symbol. He dropped Dean callously and checked the blood on the floor for any breaks in the drawing. He dabbed a finger in the blood on Dean's face, smearing it on a part of the emblem that had smudged. Looking around, he grabbed one of the old rugs Bobby had had in the living room before his stint in the wheelchair. He unrolled it, covering the symbol completely.

He was ready.

He ran a hand back through his hair, tousling it purposefully so that it fell haphazardly backwards, away from his forehead. The more agitated he looked, the better. He knelt down on the floor next to Dean, pulling his head up into his lap. The hunter made no show of awareness at being moved – that was good. Stilling himself, resting his hands on either side of Dean's head, Soulless closed his eyes and injected his voice with as much panic as he could muster.

"Cas, I don't know where the hell you are, but I need you. Now. Dean's hurt. I don't know what happened-"

"Sam? What's wrong?" Cas' gruff voice echoed through the basement, alarm evident in his tone. Soulless looked up at him, forcing panic into his expression. Cas strode forward, crossing onto the rug and stopping short, almost as if he had hit a barrier. "What-? Sam, what have you done?" Cas exclaimed, looking down at the floor and then both Winchesters. Soulless flicked up the edge of the rug, revealing the dark red stain on the floor.

"Angel binding rune – the devil's trap for angels; no flying off, no powers. Turns out Crowley has found some interesting things of late," Soulless explained as he stood up, carelessly letting Dean's head fall back on the floor with a sickening thud.

"That rune shouldn't have worked for you."

"Not my blood," Soulless responded as he walked over to the panic room door, unlocking it. He grinned emotionlessly at Cas. "Has to be done in the blood of someone the angel feels a connection with, right? I think Dean qualifies. He was even gracious enough to draw it for me."

"Why would he do that?" Cas asked, incredulously.

"Oh, in typical Dean style, he drew first and asked questions later – at least he would if I'd given him the chance – but then he thought it was for a spell for me" Soulless explained as he grabbed the wrist of Dean's injured hand and hauled his limb form towards the panic room. Cas threw himself forward against the angel trap but rebounded straight off its edge. He watched, horrified, as Soulless dragged Dean roughly into the panic room – over the sharp metal step – and slammed the thick door shut, bolting it and trapping him inside.

When he turned to face Castiel, the angel truly looked at him. He saw the hardened lines of Soulless' jaw, the confident squaring of his shoulders, muscles taut beneath his shirt. He was bulkier than he had been – bulkier than someone who was supposedly suffering from such acute mental torment that they wouldn't have the time or inclination to be trying to gain muscle. Yet most chilling were his eyes. They were empty, void of any kind of emotion at all, leaving pure cold grey steel staring back at him. They were feral, predatory.

"I _felt_ your soul" Cas exclaimed, his eyes narrowed and trained constantly on Soulless as he moved around the basement, moving things, looking for something.

"I know. I wanted you to. Everything that has happened has because I wanted it to. I don't believe in chance, luck, whatever you want to call it. I'm a lot like you in that respect" Soulless remarked conversationally, his voice flat. There was no pride, no arrogance – nothing. Cas looked deeper, honing his senses. There was something else about the Sam in front of him, but he couldn't work out what it was.

"You know that room won't hold Dean."

"It doesn't have to for long. Once I'm done with you, he'll be next," Soulless shrugged, turning back to face the angel. "Look, it's nothing personal, Cas. I'm sure that we would've got along in another life; we think in the same way. But I have to do this."

"Do what?" Cas pressed, alarmed when his trench coat moved, his angel blade flying from his belt straight to Soulless' hand. He looked up in surprise as the Winchester moved with such sudden swiftness that he was inside the circle and beside the angel in less than a heartbeat.

Cas threw the first punch, reacting instinctively. He caught Soulless straight on the nose, blood spurting instantly, but it wasn't enough. A punch from an angel would normally send the receiver across the room yet the angel trap rendered him as weak as an average human. Soulless retaliated with the rounded hilt of the angel blade, smacking it into Cas' temple. He stuck the angel again, repeatedly and in quick succession. Gasping, Cas tried to scramble out of the way so that he could regroup himself. The trap was too small though; he couldn't escape the tirade coming from the hunter. The blows he managed to land had little effect on the six foot four body of muscle in front of him.

Castiel finally fell to his knees, his face bloody, breath escaping in ragged gasps. He looked up, Soulless towering over him, the silver angel blade shining brilliantly in his hand. He leaned over, grasping the back of Cas' head, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, exposing his throat. Soulless gripped the angel blade, moving the needle-like point so that it hovered over the vulnerable skin of the angel's neck.

"Sam, stop!" a voice boomed around the basement. Soulless' head jerked around at the sound of the it. Bobby eased down the final steps of the basement, the shotgun that Soulless had left on the step cocked and pressed to his shoulder, gripped tightly in both hands. Bobby's expression was grim, his jaw set, hands steady. "Let him go, son. You don't wanna do this."

"Don't you get that, Bobby? None of this is ever about _want_ ; it's always about need. Go back upstairs; this has nothing to do with you" Soulless instructed, the tip of the blade pressing into the soft flesh of Cas' neck.

"Can't do that Sam. I don't wanna shoot you, but you know I will" Bobby swallowed, hoping that the nerves he felt weren't showing. His mind's eye had already taken him back to the night Sam had tried to kill him – same basement, almost the same scenario. That hadn't ended well either.

"I know" Soulless replied. He swept his arm around, the blade moving from Cas' throat as he extended his palm towards Bobby, thumb and index finger still deftly gripping the blade. The old hunter yelped as he was flung backwards, crashing into an old wooden unit that lined the opposite wall. The shotgun fell from his grasp as he collapsed on the ground, splintered wood and old paint cans clattering around him. He coughed, trying desperately to get air back into his winded lungs. Lifting his head weakly, he stared, wide-eyed, as Soulless returned the angel blade to Cas' exposed throat. He glanced at the shotgun – it was too far. He'd never make it.

He had to try.

Lungs burning, he lurched forward on his stomach, scrabbling for the gun. His fingers closed around it as an almighty bang sounded, making him jump so badly that he lost his grip on the weapon. His eyes tore back round to Soulless and Cas in time to see the Winchester fall to his knees and a blinding white-blue light appear at Cas' throat.

"Bobby! Break the seal under the rug! Hurry!" Dean's voice bellowed from the window behind Bobby. The old hunter glanced up to see Dean lying by a shattered window pane, facing in, his gun still trained on his brother, knuckles white. Bobby hauled himself up, scrambling to the other side of the room, drawing out his hunting knife as he moved. He fell to his knees beside the rug and flipped it up. He started to scrape the knife over the bloody mark with Soulless grabbed his wrist with one hand, placing his palm against Bobby's forehead with the other.

Searing agony shot like wildfire through Bobby's skull, burning from the touch of the Winchester's fingers. He could barely hear Dean's anguished cry from behind him and then…nothing.

 **oOo**

Dean watched helplessly from the outside, his gun still pointed at his brother.

 _At his brother._

He had already shot him once, hitting him straight in the leg which has been enough to break his concentration. The sudden jerk to his movements had caused him to slice the angel blade across Castiel's throat, revealing a potent white-blue light, the angel's eyes wide and fearful.

Cas never looked afraid.

Bobby had slipped across the room, lurching for the rune with his knife. Dean's brother had whirled around, his face twisted in rage, turning on the old hunter, his palm pressing into his forehead, an odd reddish light emanating from beneath Bobby's skin. Dean hadn't even realised he was screaming until the sound registered in his own ears.

A swift movement from behind his brother revealed Cas standing up, wiping a hand quickly over his own throat. When he exposed his neck, the glowing light had gone. He stepped quickly up behind the younger Winchester, pressing two fingers to his forehead. Dean watched as his brother and Bobby both collapsed.

He couldn't wait any longer. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the pounding inside his head, Dean raced into the house, through the kitchen and bursting through the door to the basement, taking the steps two at a time.

He dropped instantly to his knees beside Bobby. The old hunter was lying flat on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in huge heaves.

"Bobby? Bobby! Are you ok?" Dean shouted, his hand grasping at the older man's shirt, the other tilting his face to look at him. Bobby locked eyes with him, nodding slowly, unable to speak yet. Dean exhaled, his whole body sagging. He looked up at Castiel. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, Dean" Cas replied, his own eyes scrutinising the patches of fresh and dried blood and cuts on Dean's face. The older Winchester looked away, helping Bobby to sit up. The three of them looked down at the crumpled form of Soulless who lay sprawled, unconscious, at their feet.

"What in the hell just happened?"

 **oOo**

 **I've been wanting to write this chapter for so long! Don't worry, we're not at the end yet ;) Please review!**


	18. Dance with the Devil Tonight

**Thank you for all the positive vibes you've been sending my way – I love hearing that you're all enjoying it too! Seriously loving writing this at the moment and seeing where it's taking me!**

 **I'm no doctor I'm afraid, so any medical inaccuracies (and supposedly impossible feats) are my own! Buckle up: it's gonna be a bumpy ride!**

 **oOo**

 _"Don't you dare look at him in the eye,_

 _As we dance with the devil tonight."_

 _\- Dance with the Devil, Breaking Benjamin (this became my writing soundtrack for this chapter; it sets the tone pretty well if you've not heard it!)_

 **oOo**

The Singer Auto Yard was quiet, cloaked in a stunned silence that had yet to release the occupants from its tight embrace. The long shadows of dusk were stretching across the dust and jagged stones forming the numerous tracks that snaked their way around the property, squeezing between the empty husks of vehicles long left. Dying weeds fluttered dismally in the short bursts of wind that escaped down the narrow tracks, waving forlornly at the house.

It was as though the whole property was caught in shock, unable to yet move forward and process what had just occurred.

Inside the living room, the fire had been lit even though it wasn't particularly cold. It splashed a warm glow across the floor, exuding its welcoming heat through the cold room. Bobby had stoked it high, a part of him perhaps hoping that if he got it hot enough it would remove the icy hand that gripped his stomach, twisting painfully. He hadn't felt nauseous in a long time and now he couldn't shake it off. He downed another finger of whiskey, letting the fire burn down his gullet.

What if he hadn't come home in time?

What if he'd resealed that vent in the panic room like he'd meant to all those months ago?

What if Dean hadn't escaped through it in time?

The what ifs terrified him more than they should. 'Close call' didn't cover what they'd just gone through.

At the hands of _one of their own._

They should have seen this coming, but how did you prepare for something that you couldn't even fathom? They'd done the tests that they'd deemed the most necessary; they weren't to know how false the results would be. As with so many things, they couldn't have predicted what was going to happen.

The old hunter looked over at Dean, his heart squeezing tightly in his chest. He looked broken. His face had the same crestfallen forlorn look he used to get when he was young. Just like then, Bobby wished he could magic it away. He sat limply on the sagging old sofa, holding a cloth to the gash on his temple, having refused to allow Castiel to heal him. In typical Winchester style, he seemed to think it was his self-flagellation: his punishment for 'letting' the events unfold. It didn't matter how many times Bobby would tell him now, and in the future, that it wasn't his fault, Dean would still shoulder the burden and guilt. It was who he was.

"Let me have a look at it" Bobby instructed, moving across the room, picking up his medical kit from the mantelpiece. He pulled up a stool and moved Dean's hand and the cloth away from his face. Beneath was a kaleidoscope of black and purple meshing together to form an ugly bruise that wasn't going to go anywhere any time soon. At its centre stretched the open laceration that was swollen and still oozing blood slowly. It ran from the tip of Dean's eyebrow to near the edge of his hair line. "I'm gonna have to stitch this." Dean nodded and took the bottle of whiskey that Bobby offered him. The old hunter rummaged through his kit, pulling out a needle, thread and saline solution.

"Dean, this would be a lot less painful if you'd just let me heal you" Cas grumbled, frowning at his friend. Dean waved a dismissive hand.

"It's fine" he hissed as Bobby tilted his head and washed the cut with the saline solution. It dribbled diluted blood down the side of his face before Bobby wiped it away with the cloth gently. He took another shot of the liquor in his hand. "So what do we know?"

Seeing his need to distract himself, Bobby acquiesced as he threaded the needle. "Sam's on demon blood again."

"Yeah I think we can all agree on that," Dean winced as the needle went in. "He threw you clean across the damned room; demon blood has got to be the only way he could do that. Question is, why? Why is he drinkin' again?"

"Maybe he thought it would help him control his hallucinations" Cas offered logically. Dean locked eyes with him, blue meeting green. "It gives him a sense of power – rightfully so it would seem – so maybe he thought it would be enough to stop what's going on in his head."

"Things got pretty dark the last time he was usin'" Bobby murmured.

"It would explain why he's so different. Who knows how much he's drunk?" Dean remarked, glancing at Bobby out of the corner of his eye.

"Judging by the fact that he could manipulate Bobby physically, I would suggest a large quantity. Theoretically he should only be able to manipulate demons; that's all he could do last time. I would assume that the more he ingests, the stronger his abilities become. Who knows what else he can manipulate?" Cas explained. Dean sat quietly, absorbing what was said. He searched his memory, looking for signs that he'd known this was happening. He gasped as, one by one, the bricks fell into place.

"What is it Dean?"

"That damned gnome – I _knew_ there was something off about it! I was right about Sam – he did knock me out. That way he could test his power without me seein' him do it. Son of a bitch." The last bit was a muttered growl. He glanced at Bobby again. "For how long have I been sayin' there's been somethin' wrong?" Bobby shrugged slightly.

"I dunno – a couple of months, maybe? But we thought that was his damned hallucinations."

"It was – to start with. At least I think it was. But think about all the cases we've been workin', all those weird bits I kept mentioning: Sam's gun goin' missin in Jamestown, the way he'd get sick and then be fine, the way he kept disappearin' every time…" The final piece clicked. "Shit!" Bobby looked at him quizzically. "Every time he disappeared, there was a body. _What if Sam killed those people?_ "

"Wait, what do you mean? Why would Sam do that?" Cas asked, clearly confused, having missed the previous conversations.

"It felt like everywhere we went there were bodies – some were linked to the case we were workin' others – like that guy in Great Falls – were just nearby. Damnit, why didn't I see it?!"

"There are murders everywhere, Dean; that's not unusual."

"No, but the fact that they always had a lot of blood drained did. God…what if they weren't actually people? What if they were _demons?_ "

Bobby's hand paused as the word hung in the air. Realisation hit the three of them like a lightning bolt.

"Sweet Jesus" Bobby whispered, his horrified eyes meeting Cas'. "Do you honestly think Sam's been hunting demons to…drink them?"

"I think that's exactly what he's been doing" Dean murmured quietly.

"But is it really him? _Our_ Sam?" Bobby pressed as he resumed his work on Dean's cut. "Even on demon blood, he _is_ still Sam. He wouldn't murder in cold blood. He wouldn't attack _you_ , Dean."

Dean looked to Cas. "You're definitely sure that his soul was there?"

"I'm certain. I touched it; you can't fake that. Humans have no control over their soul so he couldn't have hidden it from me even if he wanted to."

"That doesn't mean he wants it," Bobby replied as he pulled gently on the thread, tightening the next stitch carefully.

"What does that mean?"

"That's why I came back so quick," Bobby started, talking as he continued to concentrate on Dean's wound. "When I showed the list of ingredients that Sam gave me to the guy in Sioux Falls, he practically choked on his damned coffee. Wanted to know what the hell I wanted them for – even went as far as refusin' to give me any of it until I told him what I needed it for which was odd; he's a pay first, ask questions later kinda guy. When I told him it was to help a friend with some mental blockin' he told me that my 'friend' needed his melon seein' to if he was messin' with this spell."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Dean asked, astonished. An even worse feeling was creeping into his gut. He didn't like where this was going.

"That's exactly what I said to him," Bobby affirmed, inserting the needle for the final stitch. "He told me that he'd only ever seen these ingredients together once before and it wasn't for no mental blockin'. He said it was some whack job tryin' to banish a soul." The old hunter growled when Dean jerked his head and stared incredulously at him. "You're damn lucky I'd pulled this through, boy, hold still!" he barked, gesturing to the needle that was no longer stuck in Dean's head but was still attached to the thread.

"What the hell? _Banishing a soul?_ "

"I think it's pretty likely that he was goin' to use it on himself" Bobby stated, cutting the end of the thread deftly. He grabbed the whiskey bottle off of Dean, pouring some of its contents onto a waddled cotton ball and dabbing it against his handiwork.

"But why? What's that gonna do?"

"We all saw what he was like when he was soulless; maybe he does feel guilty for what he's doin' and can't deal with it. Gettin' rid of his humanity would be one way to do that."

"Shit…what the hell has he got himself into?" Dean groaned, fingers poking at the stitches until Bobby smacked his hand away. "That still doesn't explain what went down in the basement." He looked over at Cas who had been quiet for a while. "What happened?"

"That symbol you drew was a very old Enochian sigil – it's what I suppose you would call an 'angel trap'. The Enochian symbols included in the design roughly translate to that."

"Ah. Maybe I should've brushed up on my Enochian" Dean muttered guiltily. It probably would help to be able to read what he was drawing.

"Anyway," Cas brushed past the comment, "it's a very specific trap – you can't just draw it and expect it to work like you would with a devil's trap. It must be drawn in the blood of someone the angel feels a connection to."

"So he duped me?"

"If you mean that he tricked you into drawing it – yes. It wouldn't have worked on any other angel. It's the first one I've come across because no one has ever been able to use them; angels don't fraternise with humans that much, at least, they haven't in the past. Plus, why would someone want to trap an angel they're connected to? I was honestly surprised that it worked at all."

"Okay, trapping you I get but what was the end game? He was going for your throat; if he was gonna kill you, why didn't he just stab you?" Dean mused. Cas didn't respond, but shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He almost looked like a naughty child who didn't want to snitch on another. "Cas!" Dean barked, breaking him from his reverie, "now is not the time to get coy. I saw how you looked – you were _scared._ I've never seen you look that way before. _What was he doing?_ "

Castiel sighed and looked from Dean to Bobby. "What I am about to tell you _cannot_ go beyond this room." He waited until both men nodded their assent. "Obviously when angels and demons possess humans, the vessel technically isn't _us_. Not truly. They merely contain our…essence for want of a better word.

"All of an angel's power – our abilities, our immortality, everything – derives from one thing: our grace. Without it, we're not even angels; we'd be mortals."

"So it's like an angel battery pack?"

"I suppose you could look at it that way, yes. Our grace can be removed although I've only ever heard of it happening to those who want to become mortal – not that that ever really happens. It's very much a frowned upon practice. When we're occupying a vessel, our grace is stored in our throats. That light you saw was mine."

"Do you think Sam knew that?" Bobby asked quietly. Again, Cas looked uncomfortable yet there was an underlying anger lurking just below the surface of his eyes.

"I don't know. Humans shouldn't know about an angel's grace at all – I shouldn't really have told you. But…"

"We can't rule anything out" Dean finished, blowing out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his uninjured hand down his face. What a total shit storm. How had it got to this? How had he missed everything?

"We couldn't have known, Dean" Bobby murmured, locking eyes with the older Winchester. Dean smiled humourlessly; Bobby always did seem to know what he was thinking.

"I should have though, Bobby; he my brother. I'm meant to be the one looking out for him. I saw the signs; I should've done more."

"What's done is done, Dean. We all thought we were doin' all the right things. Yeah, ok, in hindsight a lot of the things add up but, like with loads of the stuff we deal with, we don't see it at the time. Question is: what do we do next?"

The three of them looked towards the basement door. Silence resonated throughout the living room; they'd heard nothing from downstairs.

"We need real answers."

Dean rose up, putting the whiskey bottle down. Dread filled the pit in his stomach, weighing him down with lead. Bobby eased himself up too, grabbing the medical kit and tucking it under his arm; they had made a temporary patch job of Sam's gunshot wound but there was no guarantee what it would be like now. Dean held out his hand for the box. Bobby looked at him, confused.

"Maybe I should go down alone."

"Not a chance," Bobby shook his head, earning a glare from the Winchester. "Dean, he's dangerous, possibly more so than he's ever been. We can't risk goin' down there alone." Dean chewed his lip, conceding eventually; the old hunter was right. He continued to hold out his hand for the medical kit, taking it when Bobby passed it to him.

"I'll stay here; call if you need me" Cas offered, staying stood in the living room. They need to see how Sam was, not do a display of strength – not yet. Dean nodded before leading the way to the basement door, unlocking the heavy duty bolt. Bobby followed, grabbing his shotgun from beside the door. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but closed it; he already knew the answer. Yes, it probably was needed.

He descended the steps, heading down into the pitiful light that still shone weakly in the basement. Broken shelves, paint cans and shards of glass still littered the floor, blood staining the concrete from both the sigil and Sam's gunshot wound. It led a grizzly trail around the base of the stairs, spotting the ground with dark circles, ending at the heavy iron door of the panic room. The grate was closed, the lock engaged.

Every step Dean took added to the leaden feeling that weighed down his whole being. For the first time in a long time, he was truly afraid. Afraid of what waited for him on the other side of the door. He shouldn't ever feel scared of his baby brother; he'd only ever felt that way: when he'd confronted Lucifer wearing Sam's face. Even then, it wasn't his brother he feared.

His hand trembled as he raised it.

He flinched, startled when Bobby placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"It's alright, son, I'm here" he murmured softly. Dean gripped the lock, inhaling deeply. He steeled himself, straightening his spine, squaring his shoulders. He could not show weakness. Not now. Solemn pride filled Bobby as he watched the transformation; Dean always did what was needed, even if he hated doing it.

He unlocked the door.

The hinged screeched as the door swung open, sending the light from within exploding out into the rest of the basement.

"Dean!"

The terrified cry shot straight through the older Winchester as his eyes locked on the body of his brother. The young hunter lay on the cot in the centre of the room, his knees bent, torso lifted off the bed, propped up by his elbows as he strained against the handcuffs that bound him hand and foot to the metal frame. Grey pieces of cloth protected his wrists and ankles from the chaffing metal that would inevitably have rubbed his skin raw. Dean's eyes travelled up to meet terrified grey eyes that pleaded desperately with him. "Dean! What's happening? I don't understand! Why am I in here?" Dean swallowed the anguish that threatened to choke him listening to his baby brother's petrified cries. How could he do this to his brother _again?_ He moved into the room, Bobby close behind him. His brother squirmed and jerked at the restraints, tears almost welling in his eyes. "What have I done? Please, let me go" he pleaded, imploring his brother with his eyes.

God.

Dean pulled up one of the chairs, placing the medical kit on it carefully.

"How does your leg feel?" he asked, voice gruff, avoiding his brother's eyes. Eyes that were trying desperately to break his resolve. Dean undid the makeshift bandage around his thigh, revealing the deep bloodied mess beneath. He inspected the edges of the wound carefully, noted how the material of his jeans had stuck to the drying blood. Cas could heal it later, but they need to get the bullet out first and none of them had had enough wits about them earlier.

"It hurts. Dean, please, what's going on? I don't understand why I'm here. Who shot me? Why won't you look at me? What did I do?"

"It's ok Sam" Bobby soothed, the gun still in his hands, muzzle pointed to the ground. He kept both hands firmly clasped around it.

Dean pulled out a pair of small silver forceps that resembled a pair of scissors, the sharp edges replaced with rounded ends. He perched himself on the edge of the cot, next to his brother's leg. He hovered over the wound, looking for a clear view. "What do you remember?" he asked quietly, procrastinating. He really didn't want to go digging around inside his brother's leg.

"I…we…you did a load of tests – you thought there was something wrong with me. But I thought they were all clear. They were, weren't they?" The younger Winchester dipped his head, trying to catch Dean's eye before looking up at Bobby, his eyes wide and sad. "Weren't they?"

"Brace yourself, Sammy" Dean murmured, focusing on the wound in front of him. He gently pushed the forceps into the wound, wincing at his brother's agonised cries. He gripped the younger Winchester's knee with his free hand, holding his leg stable as it jerked and twitched. He flinched as Sam pleaded. "Nearly there, Sammy, hold on" he reassured through gritted teeth. One more twist and he pulled the bullet free. Sam's body collapsed, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his forehead, hands clenched into fists. He opened his eyes and looked from one man to the other.

"Guys, please, you're killing me. What is going on?"

"You're not well, Sam" Bobby replied, circling up close to the top of the cot. "Do you remember the ingredients you gave me?"

"Yeah…for the cleansing spell I got from the witch" he nodded, his look hopeful.

"No, Sam. That's not what that spell's for" Bobby responded as Dean started to clean the wound, placing the forceps on the bed.

"What? Yes, it is. That's what the witch told me" he insisted, brow furrowed. Dean's hands stilled as he finally looked up at his brother's face.

"Don't lie to us, Sam. We know what that spell does. We know that you're using demon blood" he said flatly, his voice defeated. He didn't have it in him to snap. Sam's eyes widened, shock registering in their depths as he shook his head vehemently.

"No! I'm not, Dean, I swear. Why would you even think that? You're crazy!" he objected, twisting and squirming against his restraints.

"Because I watched you fling Bobby across the room. That's why you're in here; the warding stops you from usin' your power. What the hell were you even thinkin'?" Dean answered, his eyes completely fixed on his brother's.

The movement was so quick, Dean barely had time to react. With a swift jerk, the hand nearest him was suddenly free of its restraint and grasping at the forceps he'd left on the bed. They were arching up towards his face in an almost perfect, vicious semi-circle. His own arm raised itself instinctively to block, managing to grab his brother's wrist just before the forceps penetrated his neck. The drive in Soulless' arm was overpowering; Dean did the only thing he could think of: he stuck his thumb straight into the bullet wound. Soulless howled, his hand jerking away as Bobby moved forward, slamming the butt of the gun onto Soulless' head, dazing him.

The whole thing took barely three seconds.

"Shit! Quick, get the other cuffs before he comes to!" Dean bellowed He ripped the grey cloth from the loose wrist, wincing at the mangled limpness of his brother's thumb. He'd deliberately broken it, using the gap the cloth had made in the cuffs to free his hand. Bobby threw him the keys as they set to work removing the padding and tightening the restraints.

Dean looked up as his brother groaned, rolling his head and blinking as he squinted at his older brother. Dean looked him straight in the eye as he wrapped the cold metal handcuff around his wrist, squeezing it tight enough that it bit into his skin. Soulless smiled at him, shrugging as he lounged back against the pillow, ignoring Bobby as he tightened his other restraints. For the first time, Dean saw the truly dead look in his eyes.

"You can't blame me for trying."

 **oOo**

 **Writing manipulative Soulless really is far too much fun…mwahahaha! I'd love to hear your thoughts on how this is progressing!**


	19. The Beast is Ugly

**Cue the longest chapter to date! I hope it meets expectations (it certainly went down a different path than I was expecting)! Oh and the nod to Red Meat in the last chapter was unintentional, clearly was influential for me though…**

 _"I can see through all your empty lies."_

 _\- Dance with the Devil, Breaking Benjamin_

 **oOo**

"You really have gone darkside." It wasn't a question. Dean locked eyes with the iciest steel grey eyes he'd ever seen. They were hollow – completely emotionless. An involuntary shiver rolled slickly down his spine. He had expected the viciousness, the ferocity that had come with the demon blood. The night when Sam had escaped from the panic room after his first detox and the brutal fight that nearly ripped them apart still lingered in Dean's mind. This Sam…this Sam was different. The blood had made him cold. Calculating. He was absolutely lethal.

The cool confidence that exuded from him, even though he was the one restrained on the bed, brought the image of when he was soulless to Dean's mind. He had the same predatory look that he'd had when they were questioning Olivia, the sister of the girl who had summoned Veritas. That was impossible – they'd checked him. As Cas said, he couldn't fake a soul.

So where did that leave them?

"Tell me something, Sam. Why did you do this to yourself?" he asked quietly, his arms crossed as he looked down on his brother. Soulless grinned patronisingly at him; it was galling.

"I don't expect you to understand; you didn't the last time if I remember right."

"Last time was about Lilith, about gankin' another demon. And look where that got us. You're riskin' everythin' _again_ just for a power trip?" Dean growled, his voice rising to nearly a shout. He wanted to be calm, but his brother wasn't making it easy.

"I'm not risking anything. You've got it all wrong" Soulless retorted, adjusting his position slightly, testing the cuffs that now bit into his skin. Bobby tensed near him, white knuckles contrasting against the barrel of the shotgun.

"Explain it then. It is to do with the hallucinations?" Dean pressed further, surprise registering briefly on his face when Soulless laughed. It was an empty sound, mirthless. He glanced at Bobby who looked as horrified as he felt.

"That's your problem, Dean. You never…think big. You're too narrow-minded. There are bigger things at stake than what's going on in my head."

"Such as?" Soulless simply turned his head away. Dean ground his teeth so hard that his jaw ached. He could deal with angry outbursts, hell he could match them, but stubborn Sam? He was a pain in the ass.

"You wanna play that game? Fine. But you're gonna dry out down here in the meantime. Then we can have a proper chat about your stupid choices" Dean spat, his anger slipping through.

"Good luck with that" Soulless goaded, still giving his brother the same chilling smile. Dean looked away, moving with Bobby to the door, holding it open for the older hunter before locking it.

"We _cannot_ leave him alone. Someone needs to be in that room or outside this door 24/7 – same as last time after we ganked Famine. I don't trust him. At all." Dean stated, Bobby nodding his ascent.

"I'll get Cas to come down and fix his thumb and the bullet wound then I'll take the first watch" Bobby offered.

"I can't believe he snapped his own thumb," Dean muttered, shaking his head and shooting a concerned look at the door to the panic room. "He's gone too far this time. We need to find out what his 'big picture' is. Maybe then we'll know why he's gone down this road."

"And why he was after Castiel."

Dean nodded. He'd wanted answers but, as always, had come out with more questions that he'd gone in with.

 **oOo**

Sam sat pensively, pulling at the manacles around his wrists. He had tried countless times to try and undo them but nothing had worked. He glanced at the screen which showed nothing but the rotating fan inside the real panic room; its devil's trap design black against the deep night blue of the sky beyond.

"Knew Dean would catch you out eventually" he muttered, smiling smugly to himself. He'd lost track of the time he'd been stuck inside this room alone. Except for the souloscopy, Soulless didn't bother with him at all. Sam had forgotten the last time he'd actually talked to someone. Someone other than himself, that is. He didn't know when that had started either. Was it a sign that he was actually going insane this time? That had ended up being a rather lengthy debate. With himself. The conclusion? He was pretty sure the isolation was starting to drive him nuts.

When he watched Dean, Bobby and Cas on the screen though, he joined in with their conversations – Sam figured that that wasn't technically insane behaviour. It was like talking to a television or shouting at your laptop. Everyone does it.

He had never been so thrilled to be shot before. Yeah, it had hurt like hell, but Cas was safe and they were onto Soulless. They still hadn't worked out what he was yet which was irking. Although, he had to admit, it was logical to think that his behaviour was down to the demon blood; it did change him for the worse.

He looked up when he heard the familiar groan of the panic room door opening. The screen swivelled when Soulless turned his head, showing Castiel enter, his face grave and wary.

"Hey Cas" Sam greeted him. He didn't care that Cas couldn't hear him – that didn't matter; he needed to feel like he was a part of something. He studied the angel carefully, noting the tension that rolled off of him. Cas was angry. "You've got every right to be, man. Sorry" Sam remarked, shrugging apologetically. Cas said nothing but simply approached the cot. Bobby hovered in the background, the shotgun raised. Sam was glad that they were taking this so seriously – they should. They had no idea how dangerous Soulless truly was. If they thought he was bad the first time around, when his soul was actually still in hell, they couldn't possibly fathom this version. He was truly psychopathic.

 _"If it's an apology you're looking for, you've come to the wrong place. I'm all out of the warm and fuzzies"_ Soulless quipped drily. Cas ignored him, reaching two fingers to touch his forehead. Sam felt the too-tight handcuffs bite aggressively into his wrists as Soulless strained to move away. A warm glow emanated through his body, focusing itself on his leg and thumb. He felt an odd crackling sensation as his broken thumb realigned itself. The fire in his leg died instantly. A strange calm fell over Sam; an angel's touch goes beyond just physical healing. He felt the underlying anxiety that constantly had a hold of him ease briefly. It was the most…content he'd felt in, what, months?

Cas' fingers left his forehead all too quickly, the warm feeling disappearing with his touch. Sam felt Soulless flex his fingers, testing his newly fixed thumb. The metal dug painfully into the tendons on the side of his wrist, but Soulless didn't seem to care. Physical pain was merely an inconvenience for him – nothing more.

 _"What, nothing to say?"_ Soulless taunted as Sam watched the angel walked towards the door, overwhelming loneliness pulling at him. Cas stopped in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder but not actually looking at them.

 _"There's nothing to say if you're not going to cooperate"_ Castiel replied, stepping out. The door eased shut.

"I wish you'd just banished me. Anything is better than this" Sam whispered, turning his eyes to the ceiling, resting his head gently against the wall.

 **oOo**

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, throwing the ratchet clean across the yard. It struck the side of the metal lean-to that provided a bit of shelter from the elements when they were working on cars. As it was, the sun was blazing down, prickling heat across Dean's skin, adding to his foul mood. He sucked at the blood that was pouring out of his finger where the ratchet had slipped and sliced the digit open. He slammed the hood of the Impala shut, kicking a nearby bucket in irritation.

"Are you finished destroyin' things in my yard?" Bobby asked as he appeared around the corner. Dean glared at him without any real malice.

"Better your yard than someone's face" he retorted, grabbing a bag from the workbench. "Is Cas downstairs?" Bobby nodded. Dean opened the driver's door, kneeling inside the car to collect the rubbish that had built up in the car during their last trip. He stuffed two coffee cups and a burrito wrapper in the bag, stretching across to Sam's side of the car. He ran his hand down the side of the seat, frowning when he felt something there. How many times had he told his brother about shoving things down the side of the seat?! Dean gripped it and yanked up the offending article: a newspaper. He went to shove it in the bag, but stopped when the headline caught his eye.

Scooting out backwards, he stood up outside of the car. Bobby leant over to see what he was looking at as he unfolded the paper.

"What is it?" Bobby asked as he scanned the headline.

LOCAL GIRL FOUND SLAUGHTERED

He looked at the picture, recognising nothing. He shifted his gaze up to Dean who looked revolted. He pointed to the picture of a pretty blonde in her late twenties, her smile warm and inviting.

"I know her," he murmured, "she was the girl Sam picked up when we were in Denver. This was published two days later. She must have been possessed. But why…"

"Why what?"

"Why would he buy this and leave it in the car where he knew I might find it? It'd be obvious that I'd recognise her if I saw it. It doesn't make any sense!" He stuffed the paper in the bag angrily. "God _dammit,_ Sam! I could have saved her."

"How Dean?" Bobby huffed, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. "How were you supposed to know that someone Sam slept with was gonna end up dead?" Dean looked at him.

"It does tend to be a running theme with him."

"Oh c'mon! You can't expect that every time Sam shacks up with a girl; the poor boy'll be celibate for the rest of his life" Bobby joked, trying to lighten the mood. He had watched Dean beat himself up enough. "Seriously though, he's not hurting anyone else – not now. We won't let him."

"And how long are we gonna keep him in that damned room, Bobby?"

"Long as we need to."

"It's been three _days._ He hasn't done anything. No shakes, no yelling', no _nothin'_. I don't get it. We've been through this twice with him. By now he should be almost dry. Why isn't the detox workin'?" Dean ranted, raking his hand back through his hair. It was driving him mad.

"Honestly – I don't know. There's got to be somethin' we've missed" Bobby replied. He looked up when a deep rumbling noise started approaching them. Both hunters turned as a tow truck appeared, Rufus Turner at the wheel. Bobby's rusted out Chevelle sat on the truck's flatbed. The engine cut out as Rufus hopped out of the cab. "Took you long enough" Bobby barked at him, grinning when Rufus looked at him indignantly. There were fewer things more enjoyable than winding Rufus up.

"You're damn lucky this ain't Shabbat, Bobby. Hell I don't even know why you wanted me to pick up this hunk a junk when you're lazing 'round here all damn day" Rufus grumbled, glaring at Bobby.

"I told you – I got things here that mean I can't leave right now" Bobby huffed, moving around the side of the tow truck.

"Yeah, yeah, you tol' me that one before" Rufus muttered, moving with Bobby who was still inspecting the underside of the Chevelle, eyeing up the screwdriver that was still sticking out of the gas tank. His frown turned pensive as Rufus continued to talk at him, either oblivious or simply not caring that Bobby wasn't listening. "Look, Bobby. I ain't got time to hang around starin' at your rust bucket. Next time you call, there'd better be a bottle involved."

"Yeah, course" Bobby answered, distracted. Rufus grinned to himself; he enjoyed nothing more than cornering Bobby into favours he wouldn't remember that could easily be embellished. He patted the old hunter on the shoulder, waving a goodbye to Dean as he headed back to his own car.

Dean watched the grizzly old hunter shoot off, raising dust as he sped away. He walked up next to Bobby who was still stood chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"What's on your mind, Bobby?" he asked quietly. He was used to Bobby's pensive looks and knew when he was onto something.

"With everything that's been goin' on, I think it's safe to say that Sam _did_ stick that in my gas tank. Remember we said we couldn't work out why he'd damage my car and not the Impala?" Bobby asked. Dean nodded. "What if he knew I'd be heading out with Cas? He knew you'd chase after him, not me. I don't think he was tryin' to stop us from followin' him; I think he was slowin' us down."

"Why?"

"If I'm right, we need to talk to Cas" Bobby explained, walking swiftly back towards the house. Dean followed, matching his brisk pace.

They found Castiel standing outside of the panic room door, ignoring the chair that they had been using when they were stood guard. He turned to face them when they came down the wooden stairs, concern on his face.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember what you said about Meriel? About her wounds?" Bobby asked directly, not bothering with context. Cas nodded.

"Yes. That only one was made with an angel blade; the rest were all done with something ordinary – like a dagger." Bobby looked at Dean, his frown intense.

"What if it was Sam that attacked her? He sent you on a damned goose chase and then made sure I couldn't follow. He could've waited here when we left – chasin' our tails – and then beat us to Davenport."

"Okay, but her throat wasn't slit" Dean pointed out.

"No," Castiel's blue eyes widened minutely. "But she did have a lot of blood missing." The three of them looked at the cold metal door, horror and understanding finally dawning.

"Do you…? Did he…?" Dean choked, unable to bring himself to say it.

"I think he drank angel blood, yes" Cas answered, gravely. Dean sank into the chair, his head in his hands. This couldn't be happening. Demon blood was one thing, but angel blood too? "I don't think it would have worked though."

"Why not?"

"Angel blood isn't like demon blood. As I said before, our abilities aren't melded with our vessel in the same way that a demon's are; our grace sits in one place. Therefore, the blood would have had no effect."

"That's why he came after you" Dean whispered. He looked up at Cas and Bobby, his face having almost aged in those few moments. "His demon blood isn't enough for whatever the big picture is. He wanted your grace."

"What the hell would happen if you mixed angel grace and demon blood?" Bobby asked, incredulous. Cas shook his head.

"I don't know – it's never happened before."

"Wait," Dean jerked upright, spine ramrod straight. "Do you remember what Crowley said about Lucifer? That there was something special about him and that was why he could defeat Amara? What if this is Sam's interpretation of that?"

"That don't make sense. How would drinkin' demon blood and stealin' an angel's grace make him like Lucifer? Lucifer ain't a demon."

"No, but he is the father of all of them. Maybe Sam figured that as what made Lucifer special and if he could make himself like that then he'd be able to kill Amara. That's his big picture."

Dean's final statement hung in the air thickly. Bobby blew out a breath that he hadn't realised he was holding in.

"I hate to say it but what if he's right? What if that is our best chance of gettin' rid of her?" he offered, steeling himself against the red-hot glare that he knew would be turned on him from Dean. He wasn't disappointed; the same look had withered others instantly.

"It won't be; it can't. Even if it is, I'm not letting him do that to himself – or to Cas," his gaze became solemn, eyes downcast, "he'd never come back from it." He was right; they all knew it. Regardless of the state of Sam's mind at the moment, when he came back to his senses, he would never be the same. Dean sighed, glancing uneasily at the door. "I need to talk to him."

"Why don't I? I'll see if I can knock some sense into that melon of his. I ain't as hot-headed as you" Bobby offered, raising an eyebrow when Dean threatened to argue. "You know it's true." Dean paused and nodded, a small half-grin ghosting across his face.

"We'll be back down in a while" he replied before leading the way up the stairs with Cas in tow.

Bobby turned back to the door, picking up the shotgun that he had left against the wall. Sometimes he marvelled at how easily his boys managed to get themselves in so deep that it took everything they had just to climb back out of the pit – literally sometimes. He dreaded to think how they'd do it without him.

Gripping the bolt tightly in his left hand, the old hunter unlocked the room and pulled the door open smoothly. It groaned as it swung outwards, pooling the sunlight from the ceiling vent out into the basement.

"Hey Sam" he greeted quietly, watching the Winchester carefully as he eased himself into the chair beside the bed. Dismay filled Bobby when he refused to even acknowledge his presence; the younger brother just lay there, staring stoically up at the ceiling. Bobby studied him carefully, frowning slightly. His wrists were red and raw after three days of chafing from the restraints that they had refused to loosen; they weren't taking any more chances with him. Besides that, he looked…normal. His face had grown dark with the light coating of stubble that now decorated his cheeks, but there was no sweaty sheen to his skin, no dark circles under his eyes, nothing. He actually looked refreshed, ready to go. Not at all what Bobby expected from someone detoxing from their habit.

"Look, son, I know this ain't been easy. Hell, we've put you through this before, but it is for your own good; I know you don't see it that way. We want to stop the Darkness too, but there's other ways; you don't need to do this to yourself" Bobby explained quietly, relieved when his youngest turned his head to look at him. The relief turned to lead in his stomach when the blank, chilling stare locked onto him.

"You don't know that. This is the most logical way, Bobby; you know that. I heard you."

"Then you heard Dean too. Logic can't always be the big factor. Sometimes you gotta go on instinct and Dean's says there's another way. We can't lose you Sam and we would if we let you do this" he swallowed.

"I'm not trying to be a martyr; I'm trying to do what's right. We unleashed this thing and it's my responsibility to get rid of it. I don't understand why you can't see that. What's one life compared to the planet?"

"We've never seen it that way. You know that."

"Maybe we should. What right do we have to put ourselves first? All that has ever done is cause more chaos. I'm offering a solution that will end this. It's my choice – not yours. You have no right to stop me" the younger Winchester spat, his teeth bared.

"When your choices affect this family, we got every right" Bobby replied, his voice calm even though anger bubbled beneath his skin. He loathed the self-sacrificing nature of the boys; it destroyed him. He sighed when the hunter turned his head away, no longer looking at him, his jaw working furiously. Pity swelled within Bobby; he hated what they were doing. He reached out a hand, resting it lightly on his arm. "We'll sort this, Sam; we always do" he murmured reassuringly.

"You're right" Soulless replied, snapping his head to face Bobby again. Bobby yelped in surprise when Soulless' hand grabbed his, springing free of the handcuffs. "I will." His grip was iron tight as he brought his other fist up, smacking Bobby straight in the face, making stars explode behind his eyes. The old hunter went down, dazed. Through vision that tipped and swirled, he watched Soulless slide himself off of the bed and reach for the shotgun that had clattered to the floor beside him. Bobby's eyes widened in horror as he stared down the barrel of his own gun.

 **oOo**

Dean swigged from the stained coffee mug, wincing as the burning liquid scorched down his throat. He was so tired; tired of the persistent threats, the worries for his brother, the never ending feeling that something was wrong. He just wanted his family to be safe; was that really asking a lot? He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. What were they meant to do next? They had no idea how long it would be for Sam to be ok; this detox was so completely different. They needed to find out why – what made it different.

A clap of thunder rang through the house, shuddering the floorboards. Dean's heart stopped.

Thunder didn't come from below the ground.

Time slowed as his heart kicked started itself, smacking painfully against his rib cage, blood roaring in his ears. His wide emerald eyes touched on Castiel's shock of blue briefly as his legs were already propelling him toward the basement door.

Not fast enough. He wasn't moving fast enough.

He threw himself down the stairs, three at a time, Cas hot on his heels, but his mind was working faster than his body could move. Horrific images scratched themselves into his mind's eye, going to the worst case scenarios. He rounded the bannister and his eyes fell on the true horror. His mind's eye couldn't have fabricated a worse scene.

Bobby lay motionless on the floor.

A high pitched keening noise scraped its way out of Dean's throat as he stumbled forward and into the panic room, dropping to his knees beside Bobby.

"Nonononono, Bobby!" Dean heard himself wailing. The old hunter's torso was a swimming red mess of blood and entrails that shouldn't have been visible. Blood red froth bubbled from between Bobby's lips as he gasped and wheezed in agony. Unable to form words, Bobby pointed feebly behind Dean, back out to the basement. Cas appeared behind Dean whose brain was in overdrive but unable to process what was really happening.

"Dean!" he heard Cas shout his name, heard it a second time as the angel hauled him to his feet, slapping him once, hard. He fixed his gaze on Cas'. The angel's face was grim. "Go and get Sam. I'll help Bobby. Go!"

He was running again.

His mind unscrambled as Cas' words sank in. Bobby would be fine. Sam was gone. Shit – Sam was gone! Sam did this.

 _Sam did this._

Anger swelled inside him and drove Dean forward. The broken glass that he had cleared up two days ago was on the floor again. No – it was new glass. He vaulted up onto the shelving unit, scrambling out of the window where Sam had clearly escaped. He was on his feet in an instant, instincts driving him forward, rage giving him speed. Strength. This wasn't going to happen. He knew what his brother would do. He knew the only way he could stop him.

Racing around the house, he headed towards the gates of the yard, feet kicking up dust as adrenaline pumped through him like fire. He could already hear the roar of the Impala firing up. He sped up.

Scrambling to the side of the gate, he knelt between the husk of a car and the fence, his hands gripping around the metal pole. He had to time it perfectly.

He would.

The snarl of the Impala grew closer, accompanied by the sound of crunching gravel as the tyres ripped into the driveway.

Three.

He shifted his feet, steadying his stance.

Two.

His shoulders squared, muscles tense and bulging beneath his shirt.

One.

"Sorry Baby" he murmured as he flung up with everything he had, tipping the metal barrier so that it slammed down across the entrance to the yard – straight into the path of the Impala's front grill. He leapt backwards as the barrier swivelled – nearly clipping him – under the force of the impact. Metal screeched against metal as the Impala ground to a halt, engine dead.

Dean leapt over the barrier, charging towards the driver's door. He wrenched it open, dragging his brother's dazed limp form from the seat. There was already an open gash pouring blood from his forehead from where he had hit the steering wheel on impact. Dean dropped him to the ground, straddling him and letting go. His fists flew, striking again and again and again, releasing the pain and the rage that fuelled him.

A tiny voice somewhere in his mind told him to stop. Suddenly, he was spent. Looking down, Dean barely recognised his brother. His eyes were closed, blood washing over his eyelids from multiple cuts that now decorated his face. His cheeks were swelling already and blood dribbled from his lip. Yet, Dean couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.

Rising swiftly, he stalked to the back of the Impala, opening the trunk. Grabbing two lengths of rope, he crossed back to his unconscious brother and rolled him onto his front. He wrenched his arms behind his back, tying his wrists together savagely. He repeated the motion with his legs. Satisfied, Dean bent down and hauled him onto his shoulder, carrying him back to the house.

 **oOo**

"Bobby?! Cas?" Dean shouted as he dumped his brother's body unceremoniously on the floor of the basement, running into the panic room. Bobby sat on the floor, leaning against the cot, Cas still crouched beside him. The old hunter smiled weakly up at him.

"I'm alright, Dean; it's alright" he soothed, trying to calm the wild animal that panicked in Dean's eyes. His front was still drenched in his own blood and his face was deathly pale. Dean crouched beside him, moving the tattered remains of his shirt, unable to accept Bobby's word. He breathed again when he saw the smooth skin of Bobby's abdomen, no entrails, no flowing blood. He grabbed Bobby fiercely in a crushing embrace, clinging on tightly. Wincing at the pressure, Bobby patted his back reassuringly, feeling the tremble beneath his palm. "It's ok, Dean" he whispered in his ear. Dean pulled away, tears brimming in his eyes but unable to fall.

"No, it's not" he whispered viciously, unable to control the tremor in his voice.

"Your brother is just desperate" Bobby replied. Dean shook his head.

"That's not my brother. Not anymore."

 **oOo**

His face was on fire. Even the smallest movement was agony. A groan escaped unbidden from his lips when he shifted his position slightly, pain shooting up through his shoulder blades. He tried to open his eyes but they felt heavy and wouldn't cooperate properly. He blinked blearily, only able to see through a slit in his right eye. His left refused to budge.

"I guess you're more resourceful than I gave you credit for" Dean remarked, his tone acidic. He watched the hunter come to, no small amount of satisfaction filling him as he watched him flinch and wince in pain. Cas wasn't going to heal him this time; he didn't deserve it.

A snarl escaped Soulless' throat as he jerked his arms, looking up to see them fastened above his head in solid iron manacles bolted directly to the wall, heavy duty padlocks hanging from their sides. His legs were similarly restrained on short chains that ran underneath the bare wire bedframe he was sat on. There was absolutely no give in his restraints. He turned his glare to Dean who held up a tiny piece of wire.

"It must've taken you days to rip and bend this out of the mattress; no wonder your fingers are cut up. Not bad for a lock pick."

"Worked, didn't it?" Soulless smirked, ignoring the pain the expression brought. "How is Bobby?"

"Oh he's fine, don't worry about him. It's you you should be concerned about" Dean replied, voice turning flat, face expressionless as he got up. He walked towards Soulless, looking down on him. Anyone else would have squirmed away from the emptiness that exuded from the older Winchester. It was frightening. He leaned down, bringing his face level with Soulless', barely a few inches away from him. "We're gonna play a little game of truth and – if I don't like what I hear – you're gonna wish you were back in hell."

"You're not going to do anything to me" Soulless gloated, maintaining his smirk. Dean's hand shot out, wrapping his hand around Soulless' throat, ramming his head back against the solid iron wall. He brought his face close, baring his teeth savagely.

"You're not Sam are you?" he snarled.

"Now, Dean, that hurts" Soulless replied, his tone patronising. Dean slammed his head back again.

"Sam would never shoot Bobby. He's family. WHO. ARE. YOU?" Dean roared, his eyes venomous.

"I _am_ Sam," Soulless strained forward, his grin slow and deliberate. "I'm just not your brother."

 **oOo**

 **This was one intense chapter to write. Please let me know what you think!**


	20. Keep It Caged

_"I see nothing in your eyes and the more I see, the less I like._

 _Is it over yet?"_

 _\- Breathe, Breaking Benjamin_

 **oOo**

 _"I'm not your brother. I'm not Sam."_

His throat was moving furiously but he couldn't get it to work. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't breathe.

 _"All that 'blah, blah, blah' about being the old me? Crap."_

Dean just stared into the chilling dead eyes in front of him. His hand loosened on Soulless' throat, dropping uselessly to his side.

 _"I don't even really care about you."_

He didn't have any air in lungs and he couldn't seem to draw any in. If he wasn't in front of one of the most dangerous predators going, he would have dropped to his knees by now. All that he could hear was the replay of the conversation he had had with the entity in front of him on that park bench over a year ago. The sun had shone warmly while Soulless admitted that he didn't feel anything.

 _I'm not your brother. I'm not Sam. All that 'blah, blah, blah' about being the old me? Crap. I don't even really care about you. I'm not your brother. I'm not Sam. I don't even really care about you. I'm not your brother. I'm not Sam. I'm not your brother. Notyourbrothernotyourbrothernotyourbrother._

 _I'm not Sam._

 **oOo**

Sam couldn't remember the last time he had seen his brother look that…broken. He wanted nothing more than to gather his brother into his arms and tell him that it was – that it would be – okay. The urge was overwhelming and yet Sam had never felt so homesick. His family needed him and he needed them.

Yet the barrier was himself.

 **oOo**

"Jeez, Dean. Get a grip. It's not like you didn't really see this coming." Soulless broke Dean from his reverie, snapping him straight back into the present. Air whooshed into his lungs, bringing him back to life. Soulless shifted his position, flexing his fingers in the shackles as he settled back against the wall.

"How did you fake your soul?" Dean asked, crossing his arms to stop his shakes from becoming visible. He couldn't be weak – not now. He needed answers.

"I didn't. It's still there. Well, it was" Soulless answered, shrugging nonchalantly. Dean's mind whirled as he started processing this. When Death put his soul back, Sam was normal. When Cas broke the dam and Sam had been comatose, he had explained afterwards about how he had found two other entities within him. He had had to kill them to put himself back together. So that he could…take…over…

Dean's heart stopped.

"Where is Sam?"

"Dead." It was said effortlessly. Indifferently.

 **oOo**

"You bastard! No! Don't you dare put him through this!" Sam howled, pounding his fists against the walls. His heart broke at the sight of his brother's anguish filling the wall in front of him. The utter despair that rolled through Dean's eyes as he struggled to think of a way that Soulless' words couldn't be possible was more than Sam could take. He slid to the ground in a heap, fists half-heartedly pummelling the wall as tears flowed down his cheeks. An animal-like wail tore from his throat, consuming him completely.

 **oOo**

"You're lying" Dean whispered, unable to control the tremble in his voice. This couldn't be happening. To have lost his brother and not even have realised? It couldn't be true.

"Why would I? Look I know we've had our differences, but you may as well just let me go. This meat suit? It's not Sam; it's just what he rode around in. What does it matter to you if I kill demons and use angels to defeat the Darkness? Hell, I'll be doing you a favour. You were worried because you thought it was Sam – I get that – but it wasn't; it never has been.

"You haven't been able to work out why the detox hasn't worked, right?" Soulless continued, his eyes drilling deep into Dean's. "It's because I'm not addicted. I don't feel anything – not happiness, sadness, lust, _want_. Addiction springs from a desire that I can't feel. That's why you keeping me down here isn't working. I have this under control, Dean. I won't bother you. You won't ever have to see me again – I can guarantee it. So just…let me go."

His words sunk deep into Dean, Sam's smooth, even voice worming its persuasion into his mind. That same voice that had stopped him in his tracks so many times before, that had laughed and cried with him. The same voice that he needed to hear when things got bad. Really, really bad. It was what gave him hope. And now it didn't even belong to his baby brother.

Wordlessly, Dean turned and left. He couldn't deal with this now. He just couldn't.

Soulless groaned and yanked his arms but there was absolutely no give in the shackles pinning his hands above his head. Typical; now he was going to have to wait for Dean to mope around before he could get on.

There was one thing he could sort in the meantime. Closing his eyes, Soulless went inside.

 **oOo**

Sam jerked his head up when he saw his double's feet from his bowed position. Soulless looked down at him dispassionately. He leaned down, grabbing Sam's upper arm and hauling him up. Yanking him around, he jerked Sam's arms together so that the metal on his shackles touched. When he removed his hand, they stayed together.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked, fear prickling across his skin. He didn't like the steely look in his double's eyes. Wordlessly, he removed the chains and dragged Sam towards the door. The younger Winchester dug his heels in, panic rippling through him. "Let go! Where are you taking me?!"

"Somehow I don't think Dean will take me at my word. I need to put you somewhere where they won't see you" came the brisk, cold response. Horror fuelled his panic, driving a renewed struggle against Soulless but with his hands bound, Sam was no match for him. Soulless swiftly drove his knee into Sam's stomach, doubling him over and winding him. Pushing the door open, Soulless dragged him through.

 **oOo**

Dust flecks floated lazily in the patch of sunlight that streamed in through the remaining pane of glass in the basement. A wooden panel had been haphazardly screwed over the gaping hole that had been smashed twice in the last few days. Dean's eyes flickered and followed the minute particles as they slid through the air carelessly, disturbed only occasionally by a swift draft that died away quickly.

Bobby opened the door to the basement, feet lumbering against the wooden steps. He ducked his head, looking for Dean. His mouth turned down in a worried line, a frown creasing his forehead. The older Winchester was just sat on the stool, completely motionless. His hands were resting lightly on his legs, his green eyes unfocused and unblinking. His sandy hair was tousled as though he had run his hands through it too much, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. He didn't react at all when Bobby descended the remaining few stairs and turned to face him.

"Dean?" Still nothing. Bobby crouched down in front of his surrogate son, looking up into eyes that just stared past him. Bobby swallowed. He hadn't seen Dean like this since Sam had fallen into the pit. After the shock, the wailing, the anger, had come…nothing. Just Dean sitting there doing…nothing. He had been almost catatonic for days. "Dean!" Bobby called, louder this time, shaking Dean's knee. Agitation filled Bobby. "DEAN!" he shouted, slapping Dean's cheek, hard. The loud crack resonated through the basement, stunning Dean from his trance. He blinked, eyes refocusing and shifting his gaze down to meet Bobby's.

"He's dead" he whispered, voice hoarse and cracking. He didn't even try to hide his anguish. Horror filled Bobby. He rocketed up, away from Dean and slid open the small grate to peer inside the panic room. He locked eyes with Soulless who matched his gaze expressionlessly.

What the hell?

Bobby slid the hatch closed again and crouched down next to Dean again.

"He's fine, Dean. Sam's fine" Bobby replied, keeping his tone calm. Dean shook his head numbly.

"No, Sam's dead. That's not Sam."

"Ok, son; you're gonna have to back up for me 'cause you ain't makin' a lick of sense. Why don't you start from the beginnin'? Why d'you think Sam's dead?" Bobby coaxed, his tone soothing. He kept his eyes locked on Dean's, keeping him anchored. Dean nodded, taking a shaky breath and clearing his throat.

"I asked him who he was – Sam would never shoot you; not Sammy. He said he was Sam but he wasn't my brother. He's soulless again Bobby. He's _soulless and we missed it_ ," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists. "He said that Sam was dead – that he was the only one in his meat suit now. I let my brother die and I didn't even know."

Bobby shook his head, disbelief filling him.

"He's lyin' he has to be, Dean. Sam isn't dead."

"How do we know that, Bobby? We've got no proof!"

"We can get some" Bobby muttered, standing. He left, jogging back up the stairs and returning with Castiel moments later. Dean rose from his seat as Bobby unbolted the door to the panic room, stalking straight in. The angel followed him closely; Dean hung back unconsciously, his nerves shot and emotions raw. He hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, creating an air of nonchalance that he simply didn't feel.

Soulless just stared up at them as they entered, his posture still relaxed, although Dean noticed a slight tensing of his shoulders at the sight of Castiel. Bobby stood, arms crossed, feet squared directly in front of him.

"I'm gonna ask you this once and once only, boy," he spat, eyes hard. "What have you done with the real Sam?"

"That's what you just don't seem to get; I _am_ the real Sam. I'm not a fake – I'm just not the version you want" Soulless chided, exasperated.

"I don't care about the specifics. I want to know where _our_ Sam is. Answer the damned question."

"He's dead. I already told Dean that."

Bobby looked over his shoulder to Cas who nodded. He stepped forward, looming over Soulless who shifted uneasily on the bedframe. "What're you doing?" he asked, eyes hard and suspicious. Cas leaned forward, pressing two fingers to Soulless' forehead, his eyes closed in concentration. Soulless gasped, his own eyes rolling back into his head.

Castiel's eyes flickered beneath his eyelids as his searched and shifted through thousands of mental images, memories and vast corridors within Soulless' mind. The events of the last few months flicked through him, showing him everything the hunter had been doing. Yet through it all he couldn't find the one thing he was looking for.

He let go of Soulless, dropping his hand back to his side. Soulless glared up at him, venom in his gaze. Cas turned away, looking to Bobby and Dean. They looked at him expectantly.

"I can't see him. We were right about everything else though; it was the soulless version of Sam doing it all. I'll fill in the gaps later" he explained, sliding his stare back to Soulless. "You even created the hallucinations, didn't you?"

Dean gaped at him, mouth open. "You mean all that shit with Lucifer was _you_? You put him through that hell?"

"It was the easiest way to wear him down. When the wall came down, I came out along with all the things from hell. I just shifted through some choice memories and fear to get what I wanted" Soulless explained.

"How could you do that to yourself?" Bobby whispered. Soulless shrugged.

"Sam is weak; I'm not. I don't care what happened in the cage. Yeah, I remember what he went through but it doesn't bother me. It's not like I'm going back there. He probably would've cracked eventually anyway. I just started it all."

Bile rose in Dean's throat. Sam had been suffering for months all for his alter ego's gain. Sickened, he turned away as Castiel shrugged off his trench coat, passing it to Dean. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, rolling it up to his elbow. He turned back to Soulless who continued to glare up at him. Squirming, he yanked against his restraints as Cas stepped up to him again.

"No! You're not putting me through that again; I told you he's dead!" he snarled, lip curled savagely. Bobby backhanded him brutally, snapping his head to the side. He gasped, groaning when Bobby took the opportunity to thrust a rolled cloth into his mouth, between his teeth, looping it around his head and holding it tightly in place with one hand. There was no apology this time; no word from any of them before Cas concentrated, sticking his hand into Soulless' abdomen again. He jerked and writhed beneath the hands that gripped him, a muffled shriek escaping around the cloth that he bit down on. Cas' arm went in deeper – further than it had the last time. The red glow pulsed up through the veins in his neck, burning bright. Dean watched helplessly as the seconds stretched on. The instinct to dash in and help his brother was overwhelming and he had to fight within himself to remember that this wasn't his real brother – that this would get back his brother.

He hoped.

Gingerly, Cas' arm withdrew, the red glow disappearing from below Soulless' skin. His chest was heaving, a guttural moan resonating from his throat as Cas finally let him go. Bobby released his grip as well, pulling the cloth from his mouth. Soulless' head dropped to his chest which rose and fell rapidly.

"Well?" Dean pressed insistently, moving away from the doorframe. Castiel motioned for both him and Bobby to leave the room. They did as they were bidden, leaving Soulless limp and panting. Bobby pushed the door shut and bolted it, double checking that the window was closed. He turned to face Cas.

"His soul is faint, but it is there" Cas confirmed. Both Dean and Bobby visibly sagged with relief.

"If his soul is there that means Sam can't be dead, right?" Dean asked, his voice desperate. Cas nodded.

"The Sam we know came back when we put his soul back – his personality, his…essence has to be linked to it. Therefore, if his soul is there, theoretically he has to be" Cas explained.

"That was why he needed that banishing spell; I'm guessing he can't just get rid of Sam?" Bobby mused.

"I would assume not. You need to remember though – this is all based on speculation since I've never come across anything like this before. However, that's not our main issue" Cas stated. Dean shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"What is?"

"As I said, I could 'find' Sam. Even if he is still in there, I have no idea where. Soulless has for all intents and purposes possessed Sam's vessel. I doubt Sam has any control at all."

The feeling of dread was creeping back through Dean again; they may have confirmed that Soulless was lying but they weren't technically any closer to getting Sam back. Bobby chewed his lip thoughtfully.

"So if we treat this like a possession, how does that work? What happened to Novak when you took over his body?" he asked, looking to Cas.

"It can vary from person to person. Jimmy – before he died – would spend time in his memories, reliving them with his family. Most angels will create some sort of place for their vessel's conscious to live in. Imagine your mind is a sort of labyrinth; it's filled with all your memories and the things you know. You access it unconsciously but when you're possessed by an angel, and demon I'm assuming, that world becomes tangible."

"Could that be why you couldn't see Sam? If that other version somehow stuck him somewhere that's hard to find?" Dean questioned, his brain firing a rapid succession of scenarios.

"Possibly. I can't tell from searching like I did just now."

"Could you if you possessed him?" Bobby asked. Dean shot him a glare; the idea of willingly having Sam possessed raised his hackles instantly.

"Not happening."

Bobby met his look. "If it's the only option we have Dean, we may have to take it. Cas would never hurt Sam."

"We're talking about _Sam_. He would want a choice and I'm not gonna take that from him!"

"It's not that simple," Cas interjected, coming between the two hunter. "I can't just possess Sam; I have to be invited."

"Robo-Sam ain't gonna say yes. Not in a million years" Dean groaned. They weren't getting anywhere. Silence fell over the three of them as they considered what options they did have. Finally, Cas spoke.

"I may have a solution. I need to make a call."

 **oOo**

 **Not the longest chapter I'm afraid, but a convenient place to leave it! Please review :)**


	21. No One Can Hear Me Scream

**I am so SO sorry for the long wait but work has been ridiculous and hasn't left me much time to write and I didn't want to rush this. I really hope it's worth the wait! Thank you so much for all the wonderful, positive reviews!**

 **As always, medical inaccuracies are my own (I am no doctor!).**

 **oOo**

"This is a terrible plan. In fact – it's the _worst_ plan I think we've ever had" Dean grumbled, throwing used crockery into the sink with more noise than he needed. The plates clattered and clanked against the metal sink, somehow remaining intact despite Dean's rough treatment. His hands clenched the edge of the sink, shoulders tensed, muscles hard beneath his shirt.

"If you've got a better one, we're all ears, boy" Bobby barked, glaring at Dean's back, hoping that at least some of his kitchen would survive the Winchester's mood. Dean exhaled, the tension falling listlessly from his shoulders as he sagged, defeated.

"I'm not that bad, Deano; in fact, I'd say I've been pretty good to you lately." The voice was calm and soft like honey rolling smoothly from a spoon. It made Dean's stomach clench and his jaw tighten. He turned from the sink and fixed his glare on Meg who smiled sweetly up at him. Her russet hair hung in soft waves around her face, an amicable smile gracing her lips. Yet it didn't reach her deep hazel eyes which sparked with impatience. Her hands were wedged inside the pockets of her leather jacket as she leaned back against the doorframe next to Castiel.

"About as good as a needle in the eye" Dean growled, earning a frown from Cas.

"Hey, I'm only here because Clarence called and asked _so_ nicely; if you don't want me, I'm perfectly happy to go on my merry way, 'k?" Meg replied, her tone soft and playful, but her eyes remained hard. Cas put out his hand, motioning for her to stop.

" _We_ appreciate your help, Meg" he insisted, shooting a look at Dean who just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, because getting a demon to possess my brother's body – which may or may not be still jacked up on demon juice – is just awesome" Dean muttered darkly.

"Hey, it's not like I haven't been there before. It'll be like a coming home party" Meg goaded sweetly, thoroughly enjoying the flash of anger that bolted across Dean's face. Bobby placed a warning hand on Dean's shoulder as he frowned at Meg and Cas.

"We might appreciate your help, but that don't mean we need extra tension goin' on while we've got it. You hurt Sam and we will come after you" he remarked, tone even and icy.

"Jeez, boys, you're all so serious! I'm perfectly happy in this tasty little number, thanks" Meg chided, her grin flirtatious as she made a show of arching herself against the doorframe seductively. "Sam's meatsuit is a bit too…cumbersome for my palette these days."

Castiel moved between the three of them, his hands held up.

"This is not helping Sam. I would suggest we put aside differences until after we've solved this" he mediated, shooting both Dean and Meg pointed looks. Dean crossed his arms, moving his angry gaze away from Meg's patronising sneer.

"So how is this gonna work?"

"He's gonna have to come out of your little tin box to start with" Meg stated. Dean shook his head.

"Too dangerous. Not a chance."

"Well Barney McGrew, I don't know what other magical plan you've got but I can't step foot in that room let alone in Sam. As long as he's in there, I'm a sitting duck."

"We have no idea if he's still got any juice left and I don't think testin' it out is a good idea" Bobby asked, redirecting their focus.

"Can't you do somethin', Cas? Do your finger pokin' thing?"

"I don't need his meatsuit to be conscious to do this" Meg offered.

"No. With that many entities included in this, I think it could do more harm than could. Also, if Sam's soulless side is unconscious, there is every possibility that he could track Meg and we have no idea what he's capable of mentally" Cas replied, voice grave.

"If he's awake, there's every chance he could either kill or exorcise you himself. If he's still got enough power, he could do the same to us" Dean remarked quietly.

"What if we sedated him but kept him lucid? Would that slow him down?" Bobby suggested. Cas pondered, his finger tapping against his chin.

"It could work. Meg?"

"If he's gone all Ironman like you think, it's probably the best idea. I'm not lookin' to ride him physically but he'll want to keep hold of his control and if we can keep him busy doing that, it'll keep him off my ass at least for a little while."

"We need to get set up."

 **oOo**

Meg lounged on the worn red sofa, stretching her legs across the sagging cushions as she watched Cas place a solid wooden chair in the centre of the room. Dean and Bobby were both busy, getting ready to head downstairs, but, for the moment, she was alone with the angel. Meg took the opportunity to study Castiel, noting the harder line to his jaw, the added steel in his blue eyes. Clearly a lot had been going on and they had all suffered. While she may have been an expert sadist and would certainly never voice it, sympathy did bloom in some small corner inside her. She was actually quite fond of the Winchester boys – despite all the things they'd been through together.

"Is all that really necessary? It's just a part of little old Sammy at the end of the day" she commented as Castiel put an array of chains and restraints on the desk next to the chair. He paused and placed the items down slowly, turning to face her. His expression was solemn.

"Meg, you need to understand that this is not Sam. The entity controlling him at the moment…he has no compassion. No empathy. In many respects, he's a lot like a demon. In others, he is a lot worse," he explained, voice gravelly and hard. "You cannot be flippant about this. We have no idea what he is capable of at the moment. A few days ago he was able to kill creatures that possess absolutely no demon blood; if he finds you in there, you will be in danger."

"Oh Clarence, you sound worried for me. I'm touched" Meg grinned softly.

"I _am_ worried. We have no idea what putting you inside him will do. If he gets his powers back to strength by having a full demon possessing him, we're all in trouble. There is every chance he could kill you – not exorcise you – _kill you_. You need to find Sam as quickly as possible and get out. If the other version manages to find you and harness your essence, you won't be a match for him. I don't even know if I will be."

"You're so dramatic; relax! It ain't my first rodeo. If it goes bad, I'll smoke out. If it goes real bad, you can exorcise me" Meg replied, still grinning easily. She refused to let it show that his words had had an impact – that she was rattled.

Why did she get herself into these things?

Behind them, the basement door swung shut.

 **oOo**

He cocked his head to the side when he heard the muffled thud and clatter of the basement door opening and closing. The quieter thumps came in sporadic harmonies; there were two sets of footfalls coming down the stairs. He couldn't quite make out the distinctive sounds that would identify who it was, but his money was on Dean and Bobby. Castiel wasn't as ungainly.

Soulless shifted his position, ignoring the numbing ache in his shoulders. His hands were like ice having been elevated for so long. He had been surprised that no one had been outside of the panic room for a good hour or so – not that he had had any luck trying to get out of his restraints; they'd made sure of that – which could only mean one thing: they were scheming. And if they were scheming, it meant trouble for him.

The familiar scrape and rattle of keys clanking against metal and the squeal of the bolts resonated throughout the room as the door swung open, revealing Dean and Bobby as expected. Both wore wary, grim expressions, Dean holding the shotgun. Soulless smiled mirthlessly up at them.

"Have you thought anymore about my offer?" he asked, fixing Dean with his gaze. He knew Dean would never let him go, not when he thought there was a chance that Sam was still 'breathing'. Both men moved wordlessly towards him; Dean raised the shotgun, pointing it directly at him as Bobby came closer. They were expecting trouble. Soulless didn't blame them; whatever their plan was, he wasn't going to be a part of it willingly.

Bobby stepped right up to the edge of the bedframe, standing just to the right of the younger Winchester. His hand darted out, grabbing Soulless' neck, thumb and fingers wrapped around his chin as he tilted his head to the side. "What the hell are you doing?!" Soulless growled, jerking his head, but Bobby's grip was iron tight. With his other hand, Bobby produced a syringe, sliding the needle into the soft skin in his neck before depressing the plunger. He withdrew it, releasing his hold instantly. "What have you done?" Soulless spat, his eyes hard as flint.

"Just given you somethin' to make you a bit more cooperative" Bobby replied, watching him intently.

It didn't take long.

It was like the moment just before falling asleep; his limbs became heavy, too heavy, like they were made of lead. His hands relaxed in the cuffs, fingers loosening and the ache in his shoulders melted away. Cotton filled his brain, making his thoughts unclear and jumbled; as soon as he tried to concentrate on one, it flitted away and escaped his grasp. The world tipped and swam even though he blinked hard, trying desperately to refocus his vision.

Dean watched as Soulless struggled against the sedative, slowly succumbing to it. His own insides were a tense, nauseous mess; it didn't matter that Soulless wasn't the 'real' Sam – he was still drugging his brother and it killed him to do it. He had had to squash the vicious little whisper in the back of his mind constantly: the one that told him Soulless hadn't been lying, that said Sam was gone. He had to be sure; he had to know. Like every other time it had got really bad, Dean was prepared to do anything to make it right again.

Whatever the consequences.

Soulless head lolled forward, the tension completely gone from his muscles. Bobby looked at Dean.

"Ready?"

Dean nodded and passed the old hunter his shotgun. He grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the table opposite Soulless before moving towards him, pulling the keys for his current restraints from his pocket. He tilted Soulless' head up, satisfied to see his eyes trying to focus but not quite managing it. Dean let go and reached for the shackles. He undid them, grabbing both of Soulless' wrists before they dropped. Soulless tugged feebly, but his reflexes were sluggish and weak.

"What…y'doin'?" he slurred as Dean manoeuvred his hands behind his back and cuffing them before reaching down to undo his ankles.

"Just takin' you for a strolled upstairs, nothin' to worry about" Dean replied, his tone surprisingly soothing. He hauled his baby brother's body up, gripping him firmly under the arm and at the wrists. Bobby slung the shotgun strap over his shoulder and mirrored Dean's hold. Soulless could barely stand, leaning heavily on both of them as they steered him towards the door, more dragging him that guiding him.

 **oOo**

"Time I flew to Kansas, Dorothy."

"You're sure you know what you're doin'?" Bobby asked, his eyes mistrustful. Meg rolled hers.

"Get in, find Sam, get out again."

"And you will get out of him when you're done" Dean instructed, his eyes never leaving Soulless. The hunter sat secured to the wooden chair, his breathing long and slow as he fought against the sedative.

"If he's as messed up as you say, there's no way I'm stickin' around in his noodle. This trip ain't worth my ass" Meg shot back as she walked to the sofa, sitting down and making herself comfortable. She looked to Cas. "Be a sweetheart and do your thing, Clarence."

Castiel nodded and stepped towards Soulless, pulling the collar of his shirt to one side, revealing his anti-possession tattoo. Hoovering his palm over the black ink, it glowed before disappearing completely.

"Be careful" he warned.

"Just keep him trippy and I'll be fine. If I'm not out in three hours, exorcise me" she instructed. Dean nodded once, hard. She smiled. "See ya."

Meg's whole body jerked up as black smoke plumed from her mouth, shooting up into the air. It arched over their heads and race down towards Soulless. His head snapped back, eyes wide, as the smoke forced its way down his throat. Both bodies sagged instantly as Meg's essence disappeared. The three men glanced at each other. Castiel moved to Meg's body, gently moving her head into a more comfortable position. Dean lifted Soulless' head, lifting an eyelid. Clouded grey moved aimlessly beneath the lid as he tried to pull his head away. He was still in control.

All they could do now was wait.

 **oOo**

Meg blinked hard, trying her best to centre herself. Usually entering a body was plain sailing, but that was the case when the meatsuit wasn't heavily sedated. She could feel the drug seeping in around the edges of her mind, probing and caressing, trying to worm its way in. She shook her head, warding off the numb. It wasn't going to go away but, as a demon, she was strong enough to keep most of the effects out.

The same couldn't be said for inside of Sam's meatsuit though. Meg was familiar with the corridors; they were the same as they had been during her last possession of the Winchester: minds rarely changed their shape. It was still a faded motel corridor, down to the peeling wallpaper and cheap industrial carpet. Yet a wispy, morphing fog shrouded the whole vicinity, making it almost impossible to see any of the doors or their numbers. The who space seemed to rise and fall gently like some sort of rocking hallway that was typically seen in old amusement parks.

"You boys are gonna owe me more than just a beer at the end of this" Meg grumbled to herself darkly. She rolled her shoulders and flexed her finger tips before closing her eyes, blocking out the nauseating twisting floor. She spread out her senses, scanning for the host.

Normally when possessing someone, a demon can locate the original host easily using this trick. Taking over the body was always easy, but finding and containing the original person could prove trickier, especially since the host had no idea that they actually lived within a mental warren of their own making. Once found, a demon could make sure that they didn't leave.

Meg huffed; she wasn't going to have it that easy. She picked up two other presences but couldn't distinguish between the two – they were identical and, typically, in opposite directions. "Huh, you weren't lyin' were you, sweet cheeks" she murmured; the soulless version really was Sam. She had no way of telling which presence was which – demons didn't sense souls like angels. Tapping her fingers rhythmically against her thigh, Meg weighed up her options. It was a 50/50 chance – not the odds she liked working with at all. Opening her eyes, she made a choice and turned around, heading in the direction of one of the Sams.

 **oOo**

The living room was completely silent. Dean sat on another wooden chair directly opposite his brother, shotgun resting across his lap, holy water and cross placed within arm's reach on the floor. Bobby was behind Soulless, sitting at his desk, pouring over lore. He couldn't sit around waiting aimlessly; he had to be doing something. And if – _when_ – Meg did find Sam, they were going to need a next step. Whatever the hell that was going to be.

Castiel sat on the sofa beside Meg, his hands resting on his thighs. It was one of the rare occasions that he had actually ever sat down. His intense blue eyes were also trained on Sam's body. Soulless had been quiet since Meg had possessed him, but they could tell he was still in control. He had given up trying to keep his head raised – it was simply too heavy – and his breathing was deep and even.

Dean sat there, unblinking, watching.

 **oOo**

Meg stumbled along the corridors, hand braced against the wall continuously for both stability and guidance. The fog hadn't got any clearer, in fact, it had got worse. Technically that was a good thing. More fog equated to Soulless being easier to handle. It wasn't making the going easy though. She had staggered down the twists and turns of the endless corridors, ignoring all the doors, remaining focused on the presence ahead. Meg was getting close – she could feel it. The presence was moving, but slowly. Unease had been growing inside of her for a while now; Sam was here – she was almost certain of that (unless the soulless version had managed to dupe her), but if he was trapped, why would he be moving? She stopped again, extending her senses beyond the presence in front of her. The second presence appeared, fainter, in the opposite direction. From this 'distance' it was difficult to tell if it had moved; had it? Meg wasn't sure.

"Shit" she whispered, opening her eyes again, doubt gnawing at her gut.

 **oOo**

"…Will…find you, 'itch" Soulless growled, voice slurred and broken as he jerked in the chair, pulling at the cuffs on his wrists. Dean and Bobby glanced at each other, alarmed. Bobby reached into his medical kit, pulling the sedative bottle out again. He stuck the syringe in the top, drawing out another dose.

Just in case.

 **oOo**

 _"…Will…find you, 'itch."_ The voice echoed throughout the corridors, loud and menacing. Meg pressed herself against a wall next to a bend, standing completely still. Waiting. The entire notion of being afraid of Sam's second persona was absolutely galling, but Meg's self-preservation was stronger than her pride and she had no intention of becoming some demon guinea pig on the inside. The voice had come from every direction, signalling that Soulless had actually said it, so it was no help in her current search. It did mean that he was getting angry and frustrated which meant she needed to be careful.

Peeking around the corner, Meg squinted through the fog and saw nothing. At least it was going to provide her with a bit of cover. She took off at a light jog, keen to cover the ground to the other presence as quickly as possible.

Her feet moved soundlessly against the carpet which still swayed and bucked gently beneath her. At every bend she repeated the same stop and peek routine, cursing her own cautiousness but knowing ultimately that it was worth it.

 _"I can feel you"_ the voice called out again, resounding down the hallway, feeling her with unease. Meg had no idea if he actually could – with his powers anything was possible – and she wasn't going to risk it. Things would be so much simpler if she could just teleport around his mind. Unfortunately, mental spaces didn't work that way. She stumbled along, feeling the presence she was directing herself towards getting closer.

She was nearly there.

 **oOo**

Dean glanced down at his watch for the hundredth time, glaring at the small black hands that mocked him by ticking so slowly it was excruciating. Meg had been gone for over an hour and a half and they had heard nothing, seen nothing. Soulless hadn't even tried to taunt them or engage with them in any way. He just sat there, fighting to keep control in the fuzzy waves of consciousness that ebbed and flowed continuously. Dean didn't know whether he should add Soulless' silence to his mounting list of worries: was he just struggling to stay in control of his body or was he looking for Meg? Could he do that if he was awake? There was too must uncertainty. He glanced at his watch again.

Meg had one hour and twenty-eight minutes before they pulled her out.

 **oOo**

The door was marked 522.

It was like every other door in this place; dark mahogany wood with tarnished gold numbers glinting dully in the poor light. Yet it had been a long time since Meg had seen another door. She had ventured for what felt like miles of the same damned hallway, slowly sloping down and into deeper, darker areas of Sam's mind. She had never been this far into someone's mind before; this was the place beyond the deep dark secrets of a person's inner workings. This was the place that was rarely, if ever, visited by normal humans.

The presence pulsed with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. It was directly behind the door. Meg had no idea what she was going to find beyond it; with a hunter like Sam, it could be anything. Gripping the handle, she tried to push it open. Nothing – locked. Rolling her eyes, she stepped back and raised a hand. The door groaned and screeched, caving inwards under the force of her will.

She could see nothing beyond.

Casting one last sense behind her – the other presence was still lurking – Meg ventured in, stepping over the broken door. Blindly, she extended her hands in front of her, jumping in surprise when her fingers rapped against something solid within a few feet. She ran her palms across it, recognising it as another door. Lowering her touch, she found the handle and twisted. This time it opened without resistance.

The intensity of the light was piercing after being in dim lighting for so long. The demon raised her arm, shielding her eyes as she adjusted to its strength. Fog swirled around her ankles, still coating the world around her, even at this level.

"Can I help you?" a soft, gentle voice asked. Meg started, lowering her arm and gazing up in surprise at a woman in front of her. Her smile was kind and warm, motherly, with calm grey eyes that looked incredibly familiar. Loose blonde curls edged her face, falling in waves across her shoulders. She towered over Meg by a good five inches at least, but her height wasn't intimidating at all. She wore a loose white shirt and stylish white dress trousers that were completely spotless.

"I, err, I'm looking for Sam" Meg blurted out, completely taken aback. Clearly, this woman wasn't Sam, but a memory shouldn't have been able to interact with Meg at all. The woman's grin fell to a sad smile. She beckoned for Meg to follow, leading her down the brightly light corridor. This one was different to the rest of Sam's mind; it was pure white with a tiled floor and luminous light strips blazing along the ceiling. There were windows interspersed along the walls with rooms inside them. The whole thing reminded Meg of a hospital.

The woman led her passed the windows, taking her through to an open area full of chairs. People were milling around, some sat, some stood, but all were in the same baby blue pyjamas.

"You'll find all our Sams here" the woman explained, gesturing to the occupants.

"Sams…?" Meg asked, her eyes widening as she looked around, realisation hitting her. Every single person in front of her looked like Sam. Some were older, some younger – age distinguishable by the length of his hair, but there were some who were still incredibly young: no more than ten years old. One such Sam ran to the blonde haired woman, wrapping his arms around her waist as he buried his face in her stomach.

"Oh yes. My boy's been through a lot over the years," the woman explained as she stroked Sam's hair soothingly. "This is where the broken pieces come. I look after them."

"Your boy? Are you…are you Sam's mum?" Meg asked, incredulous. Of all the things she expected to see, this wasn't it: a mental hospital full of Sams.

"Well technically no; we are inside Sam's mind and I'm dead. But I'm a construct created by him."

"How long have you been here?"

"I've always been here" Mary Winchester said simply. The Sam clinging to her peeked up at Meg through the soft bangs that fell across his forehead. "It's interesting though; you're the first 'other person' I've ever seen. What did Sam create you for?"

"Oh, err…he needs me to find something for him" Meg replied, unable to think of anything else. It sounded ridiculous but Mary nodded.

"Please feel free to talk to them; they'll be glad of the company" she offered before picking up the youngest Sam and walking away back down the corridor. Meg watched her go. If she could, a part of her would've been saddened by the sight. Turning away, Meg ventured into the lounge.

Some of the Sams looked up at her as she walked past them. She was met with a multitude of expressions: shock, fear and complete dispassion. Despite their differences in age, all of them wore the signs of someone who has been through too much. Their eyes were haunted, mistrusting as if they expected her to lash out at any moment.

Meg bypassed the ones who were clearly too young; the Sam she was looking for would be older. The ones she found she questioned but got nothing from them – literally. They would stare blankly up at her, eyes unseeing. Frustrated welled within her. She could still feel the presence, but she couldn't pinpoint it.

"Meg." The voice was quiet and raspy, like it hadn't been used in years. The demon looked around, searching for the source. She found it, curled up beneath a blanket in an armchair next to the window. This Sam gazed up at her with eyes so tired she was surprised Sam had survived whatever this piece. His eyes were a dull clouded grey flecked with suffering. Scars littered his face, some deep, others shallow, brittle brown hair falling across his forehead. He sat quietly, separated from his peers, watching them. Meg moved to him, sitting in the chair opposite him.

"You're not the Sam I'm after, are you?" she asked. He shook his head tiredly, the whisper of a smile trying – and failing – to grace his downturned mouth.

"No. I'm not that Sam."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

Sam nodded, swallowing hard as though his throat was painful. " _He_ brought him in a while ago; don't ask me when – there's no sense of time here. Neither of them were like the rest of us."

"Where did they go?" Meg pressed, trying to contain her excitement. Sam pulled a hand from beneath the blanket. Meg grimaced; the limb had clearly been broken multiple times, the fingers were twisted and gnarled.

"Follow the corridor round that way. I don't know exactly where you'll find him, but they both went that way but only _he_ came back."

"Thank you" Meg said quietly, rising from the chair. She started to walk away, but turned back, curiosity getting the better of her. "What happened to you?"

Sam looked up at her sadly. "The Cage."

Horror filled Meg as she walked away, leaving the broken Sam to turn back towards the window. She picked up the pace, a deep seated sense of unease filling her. Racing down the corridor, Meg shouted for Sam as she opened every door she came across. All were empty.

Her shoulder thudded into one door that refused to budge when she tried to open it. She cupped her hands, trying to see through the window to the left of the door but couldn't see anything in the pitch blackness. Noting the keypad beside it, Meg covered it with one hand, black fog appearing beneath her palm as she short circuited the panel. The door clicked and she opened it, the lights flickering on automatically overhead. Grabbing a chair that had been placed just inside the room, Meg jammed the door open before walking in, turning her eyes to the bed.

She stopped.

Sam lay on a bed in the corner of the room, wearing the same blue pyjamas as the other Sams. He lay stretched out, arms by his sides. Thick beige strapped were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the bed. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, not even acknowledging the lights turning on, let alone Meg's appearance.

"Sam?" No response.

The demon walked quickly across the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Hey, can you hear me? Sam?" she called, turning his face gently with her hands. His eyes fell to hers, their depths broken. He looked at her silently until she removed her hand before he turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

"You're not real" he said quietly. Meg faltered, confused. Once again, she hadn't known what to expect; denial wasn't it.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been going Freudian with my theories about this whole thing. I think he'd probably agree this is wish-fulfilment; I want someone to come so they do. You're not the first" he explained, still keeping his eyes up.

"Who else has been here?" Meg pressed as she started to unbuckle the restraints around his wrists.

"Dean came, obviously, I saw Cas for a while – nearly believed him too. We got as far as the door outside before _he_ brought me back again. I think he wants me to feel like I can escape, like I have some sort of control. Which is stupid. I don't – I know I don't." Sam murmured, his voice melancholic. "I know that I'm stuck here. I won't see my brother; I won't see Bobby. One day I'll just fade like the rest of them. I think that'll be for the best really."

Meg paused, alarm filling her. She finished undoing Sam's ankles, before helping him to sit up, leaning his back against the wall. She grabbed his face between both of her palms, forcing him to look at her again.

"Sam, you _cannot_ give up. This isn't the end; you aren't stuck here. Look, Castiel and Dean sent me in here to find you."

"Yeah, that's what he wants me to think."

"Then think logically; why would he send _me_? It's not like you've ever trusted me before so why would he want you to see me?" she countered, trying to get some sense into him. Yes, she'd found him, but she couldn't leave him like this. If she did, there might not be anything left to save.

"Double bluff – go for the person I'd least expect. I'm sorry, Meg, but I can't deal with this anymore. I need you to go; I don't want to try and leave. It doesn't work" Sam remarked tiredly.

"Look, that soulless dickbag told Dean and Bobby that you were dead. They've trapped him on the outside but Dean refused to believe that you're gone. Cas couldn't find you so they called me in to possess you. I'm sorry, Sam but I'm not here to take you anywhere – I can't" Meg explained, her voice hurried. She watched a flicker appear in Sam's eyes; it was fleeting but there was still strength in there somewhere. "I need you to believe me. We will find a way to get you out but you gotta stay strong, alright? If you don't fight this, we'll lose you; you've always got to keep fighting, no matter what he does to you – you hear me?"

Sam searched her eyes, trying to find some deviousness within them. He nodded.

"I don't know how long it's gonna take, but don't let him win, okay?" she said fiercely. Sam's eyes widened in fear, looking past her. Meg was wrenched off her feet, body twisted around as a hand closed around her throat, lifting her clean off the ground. Soulless stared venomously into her eyes.

"Told you I'd find you."

 **oOo**

Dean jumped up, startled when Soulless' body lurched upright, mouth gaping open as his whole body strained upright.

"What's happening?" he shouted as Cas and Bobby flew to his side. They stared down at Soulless whose eyes flickered black, but couldn't seem to stay as such.

"Somethin' bad. Shit! We need to get her outta there!" Bobby barked, grabbing the holy water from beside Dean's chair, passing the Winchester the cross. Dean extended his arm, holding the cross in front of Soulless as Bobby flicked holy water on him, causing his skin to smoke.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,_ " Dean chanted, eyes fixed on his brother's face.

 **oOo**

Soulless grip on Meg's throat tightened as excruciating pain – unlike any she had ever known – began to spread throughout her. Her wide eyes glowed orange as Soulless' turned black.

 **oOo**

"… _Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_ ," Dean continued the invocation as Bobby plunged the needle into Soulless' neck. Dean's words faltered as an orange glow began to shine under his brother's skin and behind his eyes – the same glow that resonated when they killed demons with the knife.

"Dean hurry!" Bobby shouted as Cas added his voice to the exorcism.

" _Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramas te!_ " Dean and Cas chanted together, voices rising to a fever pitch. Soulless' body jerked up as plumes of black smoke shot out of him, swirling around the ceiling before diving back into the slumped body on the sofa. Meg gasped, lurching up as she coughed. Dean and Cas raced to her side as she hunched forward, body racked with hacking coughs.

"Meg, are you alright? What happened?" Castiel asked, voice full of concern as he rested a hand on her knee. She continued to breathe in deep ragged gasps, shaking her head. Dean jumped when her hand shot out, grabbing his tightly. He looked into her wild, frightened eyes, stomach lurching, expecting the worst.

"He's alive. You brother is alive, Dean."

 **oOo**

 **The whole mind/demon sensing thing is something of my own making. I'd assume demons would be able to do something of that sort since they seem to be able to take control of whether the original host sees what they see or not.**

 **Again, I'm so sorry about the wait and I really hoped you enjoyed it! Fair warning though – I'm heading to my first SPN convention (yay!) this weekend, so I may be a bit late updating. I will try my best not to be. Please review!**


	22. Lose Control

**I am so SO sorry for the rubbishness that is my appalling lack of update! It would seem that SPN conventions are brilliant but exhausting so trying to tackle work and write something half decent was almost impossible. Please forgive and enjoy!**

 **oOO**

"He's alive, thank god." It was a rare occasion when Bobby Singer welled up. It was an even rarer occasion when he didn't stop the tears from falling onto his rugged face. The relief was simply overwhelming. Dean had sunk onto the floor, legs collapsing beneath him. Bobby clapped a hand on his shoulder, keeping it there as Dean raised a hand to grasp his. They may not be out of the woods, but they could at least see the daylight again.

Dean felt like the iron band that had wrapped around his ribcage had been broken, lifted. He could breathe again. The dread that had weighed him down, even when he had stubbornly refused to believe Soulless, had eased; it wasn't gone – it wouldn't – not until he had his brother back. He shifted his gaze up to Meg, newfound respect rising within him for the demon. She locked eyes with him and the hope inside him chilled a few degrees. Her eyes were plagued with horror unlike he'd seen in her before.

"We need to talk" she whispered, pointing her gaze over his head at Soulless. They all turned their heads to look at the other Winchester who said slumped in the chair, unconscious thanks to Bobby's second, stronger round of sedative.

"Let's get him back downstairs" Bobby murmured, removing his hands from Dean's shoulder. Dean rose to his feet, turning on his brother.

They would get Sam back.

 **oOo**

Dusk settled over Bobby's house, casting wide shadows through the single remaining window pane in the basement. The darkness stretched across the floor and up the walls, coating the room in an inky blackness that was almost suffocating. The heavy iron door of the panic room was sealed once more; it's occupant silent and sleeping. The four of them sat outside the door, Dean loathe to leave Soulless unguarded yet they all needed to hear what Meg had found. Castiel was the only one left standing – he was motionless, eyes fixed intently on Meg. She explained everything, right from the beginning, leaving nothing out. She sugar-coated none of it. They needed to know and Sam deserved better.

The more Meg explained, the more the blood drained from Dean's face. Soulless, the hidden rooms, their mother, the broken versions of his brother and the defeated air of the real Sam…Dean couldn't even begin to comprehend his baby brother's suffering. Horror didn't cover it – it was too mild a term. No, the anguish he felt was more primal, more instinctive. Overwhelming. It warred incessantly with the guilt that threatened to swallow him. This had all been building for months and he hadn't seen it. He could've stopped this – ended it before it started.

"Stop it" Bobby snarled, interrupting Meg and startling Dean. He raised jade eyes up to meet Bobby's pointed glare that bore down on him. The old hunter's finger was pointing at him as though he was telling off a child. "Don't you do that, boy."

"Do what?"

"Blame yourself. You're sittin' there thinkin' 'bout how 'you coulda stopped this, you shoulda seen it comin'.' It's bullshit and it ain't gonna help Sam now."

Dean opened his mouth to reply but Meg cut him off. "He's right, Deano. Sam's broken enough for the pair of you; last thing he needs is his brother wallowin' like an oversized marshmallow."

"I'm not wallowin'" Dean snapped petulantly.

"Okay, sweetcheeks, then stop havin' a 'moment'" Meg replied, air quoting with her fingers. She simply smiled at Dean when he glared at her. She turned her gaze back to Cas. "Anyway, as I was saying, Sam was in a part of his mind that I've never seen in any meatsuit I've possessed before. I doubt anyone has – or is meant to – ever seen that part of the human mind. It could be that that's where the douchebag came from in the first place."

"So where does all this leave us?" Bobby asked. His eyes were continually roaming, passing from Dean to Meg and to the door. His jaw clenched minutely whenever his eyes fell on the solid iron.

"We need to get rid of Soulless. Permanently." Dean stated, his tone gruff.

"Is that even possible?" Bobby looked to Cas who looked conflicted.

"I don't know. It's not something I've ever come across before. Having said that, if this version of Sam managed to find a spell to banish his soul, I would assume there is a contrasting one for other entities. The trouble with that would be singling out the 'right' one and my guess would be that the occupant would need to be the one to perform it. With Sam so deep inside, that becomes… challenging."

"Couldn't Meg do it?"

Meg held up her hands. "Nuh uh. Nope. I'm not goin' anywhere near that meatsuit again – one, I don't have a death wish and two, if he did manage to absorb me or whatever the hell that really was, you ain't gonna want him running around like Ironman which is exactly what you'd have on your hands. Sorry, boys, but I'm out."

"We understand, Meg" Cas responded, looking at Dean when he was about to protest. "It's not a risk we can take."

"So what are we gonna do instead? Soulless ain't gonna say yes to you, Cas" Dean asked, exasperated. The angel looked thoughtful.

"There may be a way around that, but I will need to return to the archives in heaven. I would suggest you work on finding a spell to banish the current version of Sam while I'm gone." With a flurry, Castiel was gone, leaving Dean, Bobby and Meg alone in the basement. Bobby cleared his throat, scratching at the stubble along his jaw line.

"You alright takin' the next watch? I'll start talkin' to my contacts, see what they can come up with" Bobby offered. Dean nodded, watching as both the old hunter and Meg went upstairs. He doubted she was going to stick around; while she'd never say it, her experience inside Sam's mind had clearly rattled her. Hell, it rattled Dean.

He got up off the stool he was perched on, stepping up to the iron door. Sliding the grate quietly, Dean peered through the small bars at his brother's limp form. They had shackled the hunter in the same position as before even though he was still unconscious. Closing the grate, Dean opened the door, stepping up and over the lip. He pulled the door to without closing it fully and pulled up a chair from the opposite wall. He placed it in front of Soulless' prone form, easing himself down into it. Leaning back, he simply studied his brother, sadness pulling at the corners of his mouth, drowning in his eyes. Soulless' chest rose and fell evenly as he slept, the rhythm steady and regular. The muscles stretching beneath his white shirt were now relaxed, releasing the tension from within his shoulders. His head was lowered between his raised arms, locks of russet hair falling over his face, cloaking it. He looked so young, boyish.

Innocent.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have known" Dean began, his tone low and quiet – confessional. "I don't know if you can hear me – the _real_ you – but I want you to know that I am gonna do whatever it takes to get you out. Bobby and Cas are already workin' on it. We know you're there; you're not alone. Whatever that son of a bitch has told you, he's lyin'.

"I wish I'd seen this sooner – the thought that I _felt_ like somethin' was wrong, that you were tryin' to tell me and couldn't…it breaks my heart, Sammy. I'm so sorry. I should've been a better brother. I'll get you back; I will. And things'll be good again." Tears glistened, unshed in the Winchester's eyes as he fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve.

"I promise. You just gotta hold on for me, little brother, just for a little while longer. Don't give in. Meg says you've got it bad in there, but you need – _I need_ _you_ – to hang on. You can do it, Sammy. I know you can."

The tears that had stayed, glistening, building, caught in the fine lashes, finally fell unbidden down Dean's cheeks. He didn't even bother wiping them away. He didn't care enough. He fell into silence, just watching his brother as he slept.

 **oOo**

Bobby rubbed a hand over tired eyes that were red and dry. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept – had it been yesterday? He reached for his forgotten coffee mug, downing the last cold remnants that lurked at the bottom. He grimaced at the bitter taste and revolting temperature. Heaving himself up, the old hunter walked back into the kitchen, mug in hand, debating whether he should make a fresh pot or actually get a few hours' sleep while he waited for his contacts to call. Meg had long gone, seemingly relieved that they had no further use for her. Cas was still gone; they weren't really expecting him for a while. Bobby checked his watch. If he went to sleep now, he could relieve Dean in a couple of hours. That's all he needed. Lumbering back to the sofa, Bobby collapsed onto it, resting his head on the stiff armrest, pulling his hat low over his eyes.

Within minutes, he was out.

 **oOo**

Dean shifted his position, wincing at the stiffness that had set in along his spine. He stretched up, arching his back, listening to the crackle of his vertebrae shifting and realigning. The words in front him had blurred a while ago despite his numerous attempts to concentrate.

"You've been staring at the same page for half an hour; you might as well give it up." Dean's gaze snapped up, glaring venomously at the imposter wearing his brother's face. Soulless sat calmly, watching him intently as he had been ever since he woke up. They hadn't spoken a word, Dean burying himself in the lore, looking for anything that could help. He flicked over the page, the snap of the paper loud in the quiet room. He stared at the image of a succubus, frustration building in him. "Silent treatment? Really, Dean? We're stooping to that level now?" Soulless goaded, flexing his hands in the shackles. Dean could almost feel his eyes burning into the top of his head. He flicked over to another page stubbornly.

He would not give in. He would not rise to Soulless' taunting.

"Okay, fine. I get it Dean, I do. I lied – you're hurt. I'm not apologising; I did what I needed to do to survive. That's the only reason I ever do anything," Soulless explained, his voice almost flat. "You need to understand that I can't let you do this – I won't. And I will do anything I deem necessary to stop you."

Dean paused, his fingers gripping a page. He wouldn't rise…he wouldn't…

"I don't make idle threats, Dean. You know that by now."

"You haven't made any. There's nothing you _can_ do so stop bluffing." Damn it. As soon as Dean spoke, he knew he'd regret it.

"Oh Dean, so misguided. You really think I'm threatening _you_?" Soulless almost purred, a pitying half smile spreading across his face when Dean finally looked up. "As you say, I can't do anything to you but Sammy? He's a completely different story."

"Don't you think you've done enough?" Dean growled, his hands involuntarily clenching.

"I've done nothing compared to what I could do. At the moment that pathetic little milksop is safe. I've only done things to him because I had to. I take no enjoyment in it. The same as now and I'm even going to give you some time to mull it over."

"Meaning?"

"If you don't stop looking for ways to get rid of me, if you don't let me go, I will make Sam's reality a living hell. I know everything there is to know about your brother; I've _seen_ everything he's tried to repress, including everything that happened in the Cage and more. I know what truly terrifies him. Things he doesn't even realise. He'll experience each and every one of them for the remainder of his existence if you don't stop.

"He'll wish he was dead.

"And in those moments when he's begging, _really begging_ for the end, I'll make you watch. You'll listen and you'll know you could have stopped it. You have an hour to make your choice. After that I'll start and there won't be enough of your brother to bring back. He'll be jello – I'll make sure of it."

Dean simply stared into the cold, compassionless slate eyes that were locked on his, trapping him in their certainty. Soulless wasn't lying – he had no need to. He was a creature of survival, nothing more. Blood pounded in his head, thumping painfully in the edges of his awareness. Dean lurched from the chair, pushing open the iron door and slamming it closed – barely remembering to lock it – as he raced upstairs.

"BOBBY!"

 **oOo**

The old hunter woke with a start, jerking up on the sofa, arm flailing when he heard his name screamed. It was like the howl of a wounded animal. He pushed the hat up away from his eyes as he sat upright just as Dean burst through the basement door.

"What? What's happened?" Bobby asked, his voice urgent, panicked. He grasped Dean's upper arms, steadying the trembling Winchester. It pained him that he kept seeing Dean so shaken. What was once a rare, almost unheard of occurrence, was becoming increasingly frequent.

"We need Cas. We need him now," Dean gasped, his eyes wild and frantic. He gripped Bobby's arms, fingers digging in almost painfully. Bobby locked eyes with him, trying to ground him.

"Tell me what's happenin', son" he soothed, keeping his voice level and calm.

"We need to…I need to…CAS!" Dean yelled, his voice desperate. Instantly, the tell-tale flutter of wings signalled Castiel's arrival. His brow was furrowed in concern, clearly drawn by the urgency in Dean's call. Dean let go of Bobby, stepping up to Cas. "Tell me you got somethin'. Tell me you've found a way to help Sam!"

"Dean! You need to stop!" Bobby snapped, his pulse fluttering at his throat. "You aren't making sense and you need to."

Dean glanced over to him, finally seeing the concern and panic that warred within the old hunter's gaze. He paused, trying to calm his breathing.

"If we don't get Soulless out of Sam or let him go within the hour, he's going to destroy Sammy."

"Can he do that?" Bobby looked to Cas who shifted uncomfortably. The angel looked at both men.

"Yes. Meg told you what he's done so far. Given enough time…"

"We need to stop him. I can't lose him. Not again" Dean choked. Cas laid a hand on his shoulder, trying his awkward attempt at comfort.

"We're not going to let that happen," he said softly, blue eyes piercing. "I didn't find much, but I think I found enough to get us started."

"What do we need to do?"

 **oOo**

Soulless rolled his gaze over to the door when it screeched open. Dean stepped through, his eyes downcast, shoulders hunched. A triumphant smile graced Soulless' lips; his logic had worked. Always threaten the brother. It was a failsafe with the Winchesters; their ill-fated co-dependency was their downfall. Dean carried a clipboard in his hand, his eyes focused on it. He had come back sooner than even Soulless had expected. He leaned forward, looking for Bobby or Cas. He could see neither.

"You've made your decision?" he asked, not really needing the answer. He could see it in Dean's whole demeanour. Dean looked up at him. Green locked onto slate.

He pressed his bloodied palm onto the board.

The sigil on the clipboard glowed like orange embers, Sam's body jerking up as Cas and Bobby raced in. Dean threw the clipboard to one side, instantly at Sam's side. He glanced quickly at Cas as he cradled Sam's head in his palms.

"How long do we have?"

"Minutes, if that," Cas explained, quickly. "The sigil temporarily 'moves' the dominant consciousness – without them knowing – in this case the soulless version."

Dean nodded, turning his focus to his brother. "Sammy? Can you hear me?"

Sam groaned, blinking blearily. "Dean?" His voice was rough, croaky. He finally focused on his brother, tears brimming in his soft eyes. "Is it over? Is he gone?"

Dean's heart broke.

"I'm sorry Sammy, we don't have much time," he whispered.

"No…" Sam moaned, the tears falling. He had hoped. Hoped so profoundly it hurt.

"I need you to listen to me. We are gonna find a way to get rid of him, we _are._ But we haven't found it yet. We need your permission."

"Permission for what?" Sam asked, struggling to keep his voice from trembling.

"For Cas to possess you. We might need to fight from the inside and we can't risk Meg again" Dean explained, his words rushed and tripping. Sam raised his eyes to Bobby, to Cas.

"If it'll get rid of him, then yes. Absolutely yes" he whispered, his gaze returning to his brother's. His look was desperate. "How long?"

"As soon as we can. Sammy…we need to let him go" Dean explained, heart clenching as Sam's eyes widened in terror, his limbs jerking in their restraints.

"Why?" he cried, voice pleading.

"To protect you. It's the only way" Bobby insisted as Cas stepped forward. He placed a palm against Sam's chest, blue light flashing. Sam cried out, pain etched into his face as his body went rigid. Cas removed his hand and stepped back, ushering Bobby out of the door. Sam's breathing was laboured as he looked up at his brother.

"I'm sorry" Dean murmured brokenly as he wiped the tears gently from Sam's cheeks with his thumbs. He stepped back, resuming his position, picking up the clipboard. Sam gave him a brief, sad smile.

"I trust you."

His smile dropped instantly, eyes growing hard. Dean swallowed. This was it.

"Well?" Soulless asked, clearly oblivious to what had just happened. Dean put the clipboard bloody sigil side down on the table, picking up the keys for Soulless' shackles. He moved forward, sliding it into the locks, releasing him.

"You're free to go" he whispered.

 **oOo**

 **Please review (and forgive me my crappy updating!) I promise the next update will be sooner!**


	23. Something Radical

Soulless ran to a seemingly random, working heap of junk in Bobby's yard: a battered 1968 Shelby Mustang. It's exterior was once a rich crimson, now faded and flaking. Its door squealed loudly, even worse than the Impala's familiar screech, when he yanked it open and slid onto the hard leather seat. It wasn't exactly comfortable but that didn't matter. All that currently mattered was getting as far away from the hunters as possible. While he knew that Dean took his threat seriously, Soulless also knew that Dean was never going to give up on his brother.

He needed to get far away. Quickly.

Groping around underneath the steering column, he yanked out the wires, hotwiring the car with ease. It choked itself to life, coughing and sputtering when he tested the accelerator. He ignored the aches and stiffness that riddled his body after spending days in captivity. Slamming it into drive, Soulless sped away, leaving Bobby's yard in a trail of dust.

 **oOo**

 _"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Soulless said, looking over his shoulder at Dean as he stopped in the doorway. Dean didn't look up, keeping his eyes fixed instead on the keys hanging in his clenched fists. Anguish and doubt rolled off him in waves._

 _"No, you're not" he murmured._

 _"He'll have a good life, Dean. Eventually he won't even know that he's not in control. You made the right choice."_

The conversation continued to replay in Dean's mind as he sat in silence on the sofa with Bobby and Castiel: Bobby at his desk, Cas at the dining table, working their way through the lore. He used it, focused on it, made it his driving force. He would save his brother. There was nothing else to be done. Grim satisfaction filled him, knowing that Soulless didn't seem to have a clue about what they'd done just before his release. That was good; they would catch him off guard. He read the same sentence again, for – what – the fourth time?

 _He'll have a good life, Dean._

Damn right he would – without a soulless dickbag hijacking his body.

Bobby stole a glance up at his boy, concern etched onto his brow. Dark circles had embedded themselves under Dean's eyes which were flecked with red, exacerbated when he reached up to rub them with a hand. He hadn't turned a page in the last five minutes.

"Why don't you go get some sleep, Dean?" Bobby offered softly, watching Dean jump, startled by his voice. He glanced up briefly.

"I'm fine."

"When was the last time you slept?"

Dean shrugged. "I'll sleep when we've got Sam back."

Bobby and Cas exchanged a look. Sometimes Dean's stubbornness boarded on idiocy. Sometimes being most of the time. The angel got up, mugs of coffee in hand. He walked to Bobby, putting his on his desk next to the pile of open books that were stacked up. Turning around, he offered Dean's to him. The Winchester leaned forward, hand outstretched to grabbed the much needed caffeine when Cas' other hand swept up, placing two fingers against his forehead. His eyes closed as his whole body sagged, dropping back against the sofa. Cas put the empty mug down, pulling the lore book from Dean's lap and repositioning the hunter so that he was lying, stretched out, on the sofa.

"Thanks" Bobby said gruffly as he walked over, carrying a blanket, which he draped carefully over Dean. Cas nodded.

"He's no good to Sam half-dead."

"Try tellin' him that" Bobby muttered as he lumbered back to his desk. Taking a swig from his coffee mug, he returned to his own pile of books.

 **oOo**

 **Cedar City, Utah**

Fourteen hours, two car changes and three states later, Soulless finally allowed himself to stop. He'd ditched the Mustang early on in Redfield, intentionally squiggling through different cities, picking up another car along the way, taking no chances. He wanted his trail to be freezing. Untraceable. No more faults. The next time he saw Dean, one of them wouldn't walk away.

Soulless didn't intend for it to be him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the box of the disposable phone he'd picked up back in Rock Springs from one of the numerous Gas'n'Sips. The motel, the Iron Gate Inn, was a quaint, 19th century guest house that was more upmarket than the Winchester's usual choice. It was quiet and unassuming; a small bed and breakfast designed more for tourists who enjoyed a bit more class on their travels without falling prey to the huge hotel companies. Clean and spacious, it was everything they usually didn't go for.

Sliding the sim card into the back of the phone, Soulless finished assembling the phone before switching it on. The buttons were clunky and stiff considering he'd been used to the touch screen capabilities of his previous phone. There was no way he was going to take that from Bobby's; far too easy to trace. He'd even gone as far as ditching his clothes, changing completely. He couldn't be too cautious and he didn't trust Dean at all.

Dialling Crowley's number, he waited impatiently for the king of hell to answer. The line clicked.

"It's me. We need to meet."

 **oOo**

Bobby flicked the page back again, scribbling furiously into a notebook. His desk was littered with open tomes, a variety of languages staring back up at him. His pen scratched quickly, his eyes bright with excitement. After hours of searching, he nearly had it. Putting the pen down, the old hunter grabbed one last battered book from underneath the pile. Castiel walked over, having noticed Bobby's sudden vigour a while ago, but not wanting to disturb his concentration. Now the angel moved behind him, reading over his shoulder.

"Have you found it?"

"I think so," Bobby replied, his tone excited but distracted. "I've been cross referencing spells and lore for demonic and angelic possession with psychological studies on split personalities and accounts of bizarre exorcisms that weren't demonic. Technically none of them fit what we're dealing with, but there are a lot of similar ingredients and incantations that keep cropping up."

"What sort of ingredients?"

"Some run of the mill stuff: bay leaves, mugwort, devil pods; some less so. Think you might need to get 'em."

"What are they?"

"A Hand of Glory, chimera claw and…dammit I can't make out this last bit" Bobby growled, his finger following a line in the book in front of him. Cas leaned over him.

"Blood of the original" he translated. Bobby paused.

"What the hell does that mean? Original what?"

"I would assume it means the vessel; in our case, Sam" Castiel clarified. Bobby slumped back in his chair.

"But Sam – and his soulless version – are the original. That's not gonna work" he grumbled, throwing his pen onto the pad of paper. Cas straightened up, eyes thoughtful.

"Perhaps it means original _before_ the other entity took over. That would mean Sam before he was in the Cage."

"Well that ain't no good; it's not like we keep each other's blood floatin' around."

"I could go back."

"Go back where?" Bobby asked, frowning up at the angel.

"Go back a few years – before the apocalypse and get a sample. That would work."

"I thought time travel was too risky?"

"The further back, the worse it is. I only need to go back a few years" Castiel replied, mentally doing the calculations. He looked over at Dean's sleeping form. "I'll get the rarer bits – you find the rest."

"How long?"

"A few hours. Chimera are particularly…volatile."

"Hurry" Bobby murmured, looking long and hard at Dean. With a flutter, Castiel was gone. The Winchester had slept soundly for hours, proving Bobby right that the man needed to rest. Bobby hastily scribbled a note, leaving it on the sofa beside Dean's shoulder where he would see it if he woke up before either of them got back. Grabbing his jacket, he stalked out of the door, the list of ingredients in his hand.

 **oOo**

 **Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. 2005**

Castiel landed in the car park of a two storey motel surrounded by squat single storey lodges. He leaned forward, hands on knees as he caught his breath; time travel was dangerous and draining, no matter what the distance. The angel looked around, getting his bearings. The darkness painted the white a dusky grey, the forest-green a deep black, the name of the motel – The Court – was dark against the grey. Only the office glowed with a single light shining out against the dark; the rest of the motel complex was quiet.

Straightening up, Castiel looked around, trying to figure out where Sam and Dean would be. A smile ghosted his lips when he saw the Impala sat alone, away from the other cars, outside of one of the side buildings. His trench coat ruffled in the slight breeze that brushed against him as he walked towards the car. It was funny; even this inanimate object, this car that meant so much to the Winchesters, looked younger. The streetlights glowed off its paint, streaking it with light. It stood patiently, waiting, guarding outside their room.

Cas stepped up to the door, gripping the brass handle and twisting it, unlocking it silently without trouble. Sticking his head in the door, he peered into the room. The dim light from outside pooled on the nearest bed, lighting up the red blanket that covered the sleeping mound beneath.

Both boys were sleeping, the gentle sound of their light breathing the only noise in the room. Castiel walked soundlessly between the two beds, looking at both to determine, in the dark, which one was Sam. Dean lay on his left, closest to the door, sprawled on his stomach facing his brother. Cas smiled briefly; he'd never seen them this young. Dean's face was smooth, free from the stubble that graced it most days. The worry lines and pain that Cas was used to seeing weren't there. This Dean was young and carefree; he hunted monsters and looked after his baby brother – nothing else. Theoretically that's what he still did, but this was long before the apocalypse was on the cards. Lying against the blankets, looped around Dean's neck, sat the amulet that he had worn when Castiel first met him. The angel hadn't seen it in – what? – two years?

Wistfully, the angel turned to face Sam. His coltish long limbs were stretched along the length of the whole bed, his arms cuddling the pillow beneath his head. It would seem that the younger brother still hadn't finished bulking up into the man Castiel knew now. His long hair was flopped across his forehead, covering his eyes boyishly.

The angel leaned forward, pulling his blade out from the folds of his coat. The silver shone bright in the darkness as he brought it down to the exposed skin of Sam's arm. Cas nicked his arm quickly, pausing when Sam grunted and shifted slightly in his sleep. Producing a small vial from his pocket, Cas held it beneath the cut, watching the blood dribble into the glass. It took longer than he would have liked – it wasn't a deep cut – and he constantly checked both boys to see if they had sensed him. He didn't fancy have to explain who, and what, he was. It wouldn't be time for them to meet for another few years. Satisfied that he had enough, Cas removed the vial and brushed a hand gently over the cut, sealing and removing it. Placing the tube carefully in his inner pocket, the angel stepped away, heading back to the door.

Casting one last look backwards, he left.

 **oOo**

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Present Day**

 _"Perfect landing, son" John Winchester smiled broadly as Dean eased the Impala onto the driveway, finishing by sticking it in neutral and switching off the engine. Dean grinned, looking over at his father, glad and happy to see the pride swirling in the depth of his eyes. The oldest Winchester opened his mouth to say more, but closed it, looking apologetically at his first born as he slowly faded away._

Consciousness seeped back into the edges of Dean's awareness, pulling him from the dream that had cloaked him in warmth. He should've been expecting it – it had been nearly two months since he'd had it. The feelings of security and content left as he opened his eyes, the vestiges of sleep finally leaving him. He flexed his limbs, rolling his head up to look for Bobby. The old hunter wasn't there.

"Damn angel" Dean growled, sitting up. Annoyance flared up within him at Cas' behaviour; he had wasted precious time sleeping when he should've been helping. He raised one hand to rub his eyes, the other anchoring him on the sofa as he swung his legs around. A crumpling noise broke the silence when his hand connected with a piece of paper instead of the sofa. Looking down, he picked it up, instantly recognising Bobby's hurried scrawl.

 _Me and Cas are on ingredient runs. Won't be long. Stay here and don't do anything stupid._

 _\- B_

Dean huffed, throwing the note onto the coffee table. They never had any faith. Yes, he did a lot of…misguided things, but he'd hardly call them _all_ stupid. Yawning mightily, he got up, wandering into the kitchen and hunting for the coffee pot. Finding it cold with only dregs left at the bottom, he went about making a new one, all the while grumbling to himself.

The back door slammed to Dean's right just as he finished making his coffee, a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. Bobby entered the kitchen, brown paper bag tucked under one arm. He met Dean's glare with one of his own.

"I ain't apologisin'" he stated, walking straight past Dean to the dining table.

"I should've been helpin'."

"Yeah well, we got what we needed and so did you. You can't tell me you don't feel better for it" Bobby retorted as he emptied the bag. Dean hated to admit it when Bobby was right – this time. He felt fresher, more alert. It was probably the most sleep he'd had in weeks. Stepping up beside the old hunter, he lifted up the various ingredients that Bobby was producing, still munching on his toast.

"Will it work?" he asked around a mouthful, twizzling a bay leaf between two fingers. Bobby plucked it from his grasp, placing it with the other items he'd collected. Moving into the living room, he picked up one of the books he'd left open on his desk. Bringing it back to Dean, he showed him the incantation.

"It's a bit of a mishmash of several spells that all fundamentally do the same thing. I reckon between us we can get it to work."

"Where's Cas?" Dean asked.

"Right here." Both men turned at the sound of the angel's voice behind them. Castiel was breathing heavily, his hair tousled, hands bloodied.

"What the hell happened?" Dean exclaimed, eyes wide and concerned. Cas opened his bloodied hand, revealing a long sharp claw sitting in his palm.

"Chimera really aren't the most sociable of creatures."

"Well I don't expect they are when you're yankin' their claws out" Bobby remarked as he took the artefact from him. "Did you get the blood?" Again, Cas reached into his trench coat, pulling out the vial of thick red liquid.

"What's that from?" Dean asked, curious.

"Sam."

"What the hell were you thinkin'? If he knows you can find him, we're screwed!" Dean barked, alarmed at the thought that all their prep had gone to waste.

"Wrong Sam, Dean" Bobby grinned, clapping the man on the shoulder.

"It's is from Sam circa 2005" Castiel explained.

"When in 2005? Where were we?"

"You were at the Court Motel in Fort Douglas." Dean's eyes slid to the left as he thought back, searching for the right memory. He smiled briefly.

"That was the shtriga case. Two kids – Asher and Michael," he murmured, locking eyes with Cas. "I don't remember you then."

"Well no. I snuck into your room when you were sleeping."

"That doesn't sound creepy at all" Dean remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He turned to Bobby. "Have we got everything?"

Bobby nodded. "Everything apart from a miracle and a bit o'luck."

"Let's go get Sammy back" Dean ordered, his eyes alight. He would get his brother back.

Now.

 **oOo**

 **Guess we all know what's coming next!**

 **Please review!**


	24. Make It End

_"I've been believing in something so distant_

 _As if I was human_

 _And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness"_

 _\- Lost in Paradise, Evanescence_

 **oOo**

"Look, you cocky little prick; I've held up my end of the bargain faultlessly for _months_ while you've been swanning around – have a nice little jolly – with that damned brother of yours," Crowley's voice rose to a shout, his hands buried deep in his coat, eyes hard. " _You_ promised me Amara's head on a stick ages ago and now you want to lay your shortcomings on me? Sod off."

"Look there have been a few minor setbacks–"

"More than a few I hear," Crowley interjected, smirking when Soulless' jaw clenched, grinding his teeth in frustration. "It would seem that you got outed and Big Brother Dean didn't like what he found."

"Yeah well, he bit off more than he could chew. Dean won't be a problem. At least, not an immediate one" Soulless insisted, his eyes narrowing minutely as Crowley continued to look at him, hard, clearly unconvinced. Soulless flicked his fingers threateningly. Crowley snorted.

"Please. Even if you did have enough juice left – which you don't – your little tricks won't work on me. I doubt you've got enough demon blood running through you to give an average demon a headache."

Soulless scowled; Crowley knowing he was weakened wasn't a good thing. Finally, the demon shrugged.

"Sorry but until you can categorically convince me that he is no threat whatsoever, I'm not playing anymore. I've be burned by you Winchesters enough times to know when to concede. Let me know when you've got a real hand to deal." With a simple snap of his fingers, Crowley was gone. Soulless huffed, his muscular chest heaving up mightily as his fists clenched. _Damned demon._

Fine. He'd do this the harder way. Picking up the bag he'd already prepped, figuring that Crowley would be a coward, the hunter left his room, heading out to his car. He ignored the looks from the Iron Gate Inn's other patrons; the disgruntled look from an older gentleman who disapproved of the tall man's casual attire which was juxtaposed by the blatant lingering look up and down from his wife who hid her smile of approval behind her paperback novel.

Sliding effortlessly into his current car, Soulless checked over the map he'd left on the passenger seat, scanning the area for the closest secluded area he could use. Pinpointing one, he flung the map away, turning the ignition before roaring out of the carpark.

 **oOo**

 **South Mountain Drive, Outskirts of Cedar City, Utah**

The harsh Utah sun had long since faded away, leaving the world in dark shadow. Yet the cracked, dusty ground was still warm, a stiff breeze sending swirls of dirt scurrying through the air, battering against the rigid scrubs that sat in jagged tufts across the landscape. A small lizard, its scaled head tipped upward, throating pulsing, observed its surroundings, alert for predators. It cocked its head to the side, swivelling its eyes as the snap and crunch of an approaching car sounded through the silence. The lizard darted from beneath one bush to another, away from the sound; its tail leaving a small sweeping line in the dirt.

The headlights of the Camero flashed across the landscape, illuminating the skeletal frames of the bushes, tyres eating at the loose gravel that made up the unfinished track. One day this whole area would be developed, but, for tonight, it was lonely and isolated. The lights died.

Soulless climbed out of the car, flashlight in one hand, a small metal tin in the other. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the night, and made his way forwards; the flashlight leading the way. He kept the beam focused on the track; there was no one around for miles. He walked for another fifty yards until the track split, heading in three new directions. Stepping up to the centre of the crossroads, Soulless wedged the flashlight between his arm and side, leaving his hands free to double check the contents of the small tin he'd brought along. Satisfied, he crouched down, placing the light on the floor so that he could scoop a hole out of the loose stone and dirt with his hand. Soulless was so intent on his job that he wasn't even tuned in on his surroundings. If he had been, he might have heard the muted whisper of feet behind him.

But then again, maybe he wouldn't.

With one swift, vicious thrust of his shotgun, Dean crumpled his brother from behind. Picking up the flashlight, he flashed it, once, twice, to Bobby. The roar of the Impala met his ears from straight ahead; the opposite direction to Soulless' entry. Patting down the unconscious hunter, Dean took his gun, jack knife and phone as the Impala's headlights bathed them in light. Bobby cut the engine but left the lights on, getting out to help Dean.

Their plan had worked.

 **oOo**

The first sensation that came back to him was the uncomfortable cramped positioning of his long legs that were wedged beneath him. He bounced and jostled uncontrollably; he was moving. Skin-warmed leather pressed against his cheek, the familiar scent of the Impala filling his nose. Flexing his arms, he felt the bite of plastic around his wrists. A similar test on his legs revealed they were also bound. He eased his eyes open and groaned as he tried to stretch out his long frame on the backseat. The sound was muffled; he felt a tightness across the lower half of his face: tape.

Dean glanced in the rear view mirror at his brother who glared up at him from beneath loose strands of hair that had fallen boyishly over his eyes.

"Sorry about the gag but I figure we're past civil conversation. You look surprised to see us" he goaded, satisfied when Soulless' brow furrowed deeper. "I'll let you in on a little secret; that branding that hides us from angels? You don't have it anymore." A surprised growl escaped Soulless, his frustration at his inability to speak evident. He scraped his face along the seat, trying to snag the corner of the tape covering his mouth but to no avail. Dean gave him a sly half-grin in the mirror. "We had Cas remove it; we can track you anywhere. Why else would I let you go?"

Watching the realisation and anger flash through Soulless' eyes was more satisfying than it probably should've been. Soulless had honestly thought he'd had the upper hand and clearly hadn't expected it to backfire. He hadn't expected to be wrong. Now they just needed to get rid of him before he took his frustration out on Sam.

Dean nodded when Bobby pointed off to their right. Rotating the wheel with the palm of his hand, the Impala turned down a secluded driveway towards a house that had yet to be finished. Builders had left materials everywhere but the outside of the house was complete. Cas stood stoically on the front porch, waiting, his trench coat flapping around his legs, his hands firmly lodged in his pockets.

Dean slowed Baby to a stop, cutting the engine. He hauled himself out of the door, slamming it shut. He slipped his jack knife out of his back pocket and opened the passenger door. Soulless had managed to wriggle until he was lying on his back rather than his front. As Dean stepped up, he kicked out with his bound feet. "Settle down!" Dean growled, grabbing a hold of Soulless' ankles when he lashed out. Flicking open the knife, he pulled his struggling brother closer to the door before cutting the cable ties around his ankles and knees. Bobby and Cas joined him as he reached in to haul Soulless up and out of the car. Unconsciously, he placed a hand between the hunter's head and the edge of the door so that he didn't hit it getting out. Dean's hand clenched around his upper arm. He moved to shut the car door, moving closer to his brother.

Star exploded behind his eyes when Soulless' head cracked against his temple with a savage head butt. His grip loosened and Soulless yanked his arm from it as Dean staggered before regaining himself. Luckily, Cas had already caught hold of his other side, wrestling with their thrashing captive.

"You alright?" Bobby asked, moving to Dean's side in an instant. Dean felt his temple with his free hand, re-establishing his grip with the other, and looked at his fingers which came away clean. He'd have one hell of a bump, but he'd be fine.

"I'm fine; let's go" he replied, glaring at Soulless. Between the two of them, Dean and Cas dragged the writhing hunter towards the house, ignoring the protests that were muted by the gag.

Inside, Bobby set up a series of camping LED lanterns, filling the room with cool blue light. He placed them around the room, putting the final one down on a table that was covered with a bowl and all the ingredients they'd collected. Near it, two wooden chairs sat facing each other.

Cas and Dean manhandled Soulless into one of the chairs; the angel holding him down while Dean secured his already bound wrists and ankles to the structure with more cable ties. Satisfied, they moved away from him to circle around the table where Bobby was arranging items, ignoring the scrape of the chair as Soulless tested his restraints.

"So how does this work?" Dean asked, picking up the piece of paper with the incantation on it.

"From what I could make out, we need to put everything together and set it alight to create smoke. Then, when we're ready, you and Cas need to say the incantation" Bobby explained.

"What does the smoke do?"

"It should weaken the connection between Sam and the other one. I have a feelin' that it'll affect both versions of Sam so you need to be careful," Bobby instructed, eyes fixed on the angel who nodded. "Once you've got him, that's when we use the incantation."

"Let's do this" Dean remarked, throwing in the mugwort and devil pods, grimacing as he picked up the Hand of Glory by one mangled waxy finger, dropping it in. Bobby threw in the chimera claw and finished by pouring the vial of Sam's blood over the top. The deep red oozed over the materials, rolling slowly, grotesquely, down the Hand of Glory. Dean looked to Castiel. "You ready?" The angel nodded. Bobby struck a match, dropping it into the bowl, setting it ablaze. The flames shot up instantly, illuminating them with an ethereal purple glow. They mellowed to a steady blaze, plumes of thick smoke rolled up through the air, a sickly, cloying smell wafting with it.

They turned to Soulless who shifted uneasily in the chair, his eyes wide and fixated on the bowl of flames. Cas took the seat opposite as Dean approached him. He flinched as Dean reached a hand out, expecting a blow, but the hunter gripped the edge of the tape covering his mouth, pulling it off.

"Get him back for me, Cas" Dean murmured, turning serious eyes on the angel.

"You can't possess me; I haven't given you permission" Soulless smirked, although his eyes darted between the two of them. Dean gave a triumphant half smile.

"No, you didn't. But Sam did."

Castiel's body jerked upright as the dazzling blue-white light of his essence exited through his mouth, forcing the hunters to cover their eyes. It was accompanied by a high-pitched whistle before swirling once and shooting towards Soulless. It forced its way in, leaving Cas' vessel slumped in the chair. The shadows lengthened again in the room as the light disappeared. Dean lowered his arm and looked at his brother who raised his head, blinking slowly.

"Cas?"

Sam's eyes looked up at Dean, a mirthless smile on his lips.

"I'm in." It was Sam's voice but twisted deeper, gravellier than Dean had ever heard it. It sounded like Sam doing a perfect imitation of the angel. To say it was weird was an understatement. Cas turned Sam's gaze away, closing his eyes as he went inside.

 **oOo**

It had been a long time since Castiel had possessed someone other than Jimmy Novak's body. He wasn't used to being 'inside' a mind anymore, having lost Jimmy's consciousness a few years ago. It also didn't help that every mind was different. Like Meg, he landed in the worn corridor that resembled the generic motels the boys regularly stayed in. Unlike demon possession, angels were different; their intention was to work _with_ the host rather than force them into submission (which technically didn't work when they were invited in anyway). They had to be able to locate the original mind quickly. Cas expanded his senses, stretching throughout the entirety of Sam's mind, trying to pinpoint one or both of the Sams. Locking on, he ran down the corridor, navigating the corridors with ease, almost like he had been there a hundred times before. He ran, getting faster the closer he got until he stopped.

Outside door 283.

Gripping the handle firmly, the angel pushed the door open, revealing the replica panic room within. He was mildly surprised by the attention to detail that the room possessed; it was almost exactly like the real thing. Why Sam would choose to have this, of all places, in his mind, Cas couldn't fathom.

As soon as he'd sensed both versions of Sam were together, he had assumed that he'd find Soulless attacking Sam, holding him hostage…something. That's not what he was presented with. Yes, both Sams were there but they were nowhere near each other. One sat slumped against the wall opposite the door, his eyes glazed and filled with defeat. His shoulders sagged and he hugged his knees to his chest as he gazed forlornly up at Cas. The other lay curled on his side on the cot, knees drawn up as he too looked up at the angel with such defeat that Castiel couldn't move for a moment. Looking from one to the other, he looked for a difference. He found none.

 _Shit._

"Cas?" The Sam on the bed murmured, confusion laced through his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I–"

"He _knows_ why you're here Cas; get rid of him. Please," the other one pleaded, his eyes imploring. "You have to."

"Cas, don't! He's the one you should get rid of – not me." The angel's eyes darted between both Sams as they spoke over each other, both as convincing as the other. Both were clearly weakened by the smoke, but it was deeper than that. One had suffered immeasurably. The other copied it perfectly. His frown deepening, Cas couldn't discern between them.

 _Double shit._

 **oOo**

Dean paced fitfully, arms crossed as his moved back and forth continuously, eyes constantly darting every few seconds to look at his brother. They had heard nothing, seen nothing from Cas for what felt like hours. Bobby stood calmly by one of the windows, looking out into the night. Dean had always been envious of his ability to stay so composed even when everything was falling apart. It was a skill Dean has tried – and failed – to work on for years.

Sam groaned, lifting his head and Dean was instantly by his side.

"Cas? What's happening?"

The angel looked up at him, eyes serious.

"I can't tell which one is the soulless version of Sam."

"What do you mean you 'can't tell'?"

"I mean that the soulless version knows we want to expel him. He is impersonating Sam and I can't tell which one is which. Reading emotions is not my forte."

"Can't you just…y'know, 'spot the soul'?"

Sam's head shook. "It's not that simple. Sam is connected to his soul but not in a tangible way in his mind. The soul is connected to the whole mind."

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, wringing his hair with his hands. "What the hell are we supposed to do? You can't guess – what if we get rid of Sam by accident?"

"I have an idea but I need you to untie me" Cas explained. Dean looked at him dubiously. "Don't worry, Dean. I'm in complete control. He cannot take over; he's too weak."

Dean nodded and moved around the back of the chair, slicing through the cable ties with his knife. Cas brought his arms back around to his front, ignoring the welts around his wrists. He beckoned for Dean to come closer. The older Winchester complied, kneeling down beside his brother's body when Cas motioned for him to do so. He looked up at Cas, confused. "I can't tell the difference between them but you're his brother – you can. I'm going to show you – link you, if you will – to Sam's mind so you can see what I do. You won't be able to interact with Sam, but I will hear you. You must tell me which one is the real Sam."

Dean glanced at Bobby who stood behind Sam's body, his hands resting on the back of the chair on either side. The older hunter nodded; Dean could do this. Sam's hand raised up and pressed itself to Dean's forehead. The hunter gasped as a wrenching sensation pulled him in.

 **oOo**

Dean looked down on the room from above, absorbing instantly the panic room structure, the two Sams and Castiel. Both versions of his brother looked awful, almost gaunt. One was sat on the bed, clutching it tightly with both hands as he implored Castiel to be rid of the other one. He was almost sobbing, his tone desperate, begging.

"You don't know – you don't know what it's been like. What he's put me through" Sam sobbed, his eyes full of hurt. Dean felt a rush of sorrow so overwhelming that it threatened to swallow him. It felt like he hadn't seen his brother, his _real_ brother in months. He probably hadn't.

"I know you've been through a lot, Sam. But saying it doesn't help prove that you're the real Sam."

"What do I need to do? I'll do anything Cas; I can't stand being like this" Sam's voice was painfully broken, desperate beyond measure. He fought, imploring the angel continuously.

Tearing his eyes away, Dean looked at the second version of Sam. This one sat on the floor, his legs sprawled in front of him, one arm clutching the other at the elbow. His whole body hung loose, like there was nothing he had left to give. He said nothing but his eyes, two pools of dulled grey watched Cas intently, following his every move, every gesture as he talked to the other one, eyebrows ever so slightly turned up. These eyes held a desolation so profound that Dean couldn't fathom ever seeing joy in their depths again.

"Cas?" Dean's voice sounded hollow, like it was far away. "Ask the other one why he isn't fightin'."

Castiel's gazed shifted from the Sam on the bed who was still mid-sentence. The angel held his hand up, pausing him.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

The Sam by the wall lifted the corners of his mouth minutely, before letting them drop. He heaved a sigh, like breathing was too much of an effort, like he had nothing left. His eyes moved away from Cas' face, flicking from left to right and back again as if he was searching for the answer. Finally, he looked up again.

"I'm too tired," he murmured, almost apologetically. Dean's heart shattered, hot tears sliding down his face as he screamed.

"CAS! Him! That's Sam! Oh god, SAM!"

 **oOo**

Dean was flung back into reality, his brother's name still screaming from his throat as he lost his balance; Castiel's hand leaving his forehead.

"Bobby! The incantation!" he shouted as he scrambled up. The old hunter snatched the paper from the table, passing it to Dean who stood, clutching it like a lifeline, waiting.

 **oOo**

"Wait? What're you doing? Cas, no!"

Cas ignored the Sam's protests as he stepped forward, grabbing the Winchester around the throat, pulling him up off the cot. The hunter scratched and battered as his hands weakly. Castiel glared at him.

"You can't hide anymore" the angel growled. Soulless stopped moving; the hurt and panic in his eyes fading into nothing.

"I had to try. I'm nothing if not a survivor."

"No. You're just nothing," Cas snarled. He looked up. "Dean, now!"

" _Eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia."_ Castiel's eyes, his whole being began to glow as the incantation echoed around the room in Dean's clear Latin. The angel raised his own voice, reciting with Dean.

"Eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia."

 **oOo**

"Ab animabusad imaginem Dei." Dean read quickly but fluently, the paper crinkling in his hands. Sam's voice joined his own as Cas recited too. Bobby watched on, adding his voice to theirs. "Conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguini redemptis!"

Sam's body began to glow.

 **oOo**

 _"Conditis ac pretioso divini Agni…"_

Soulless gasped as Cas' light enveloped him. His eyes glowed purple, like the smoke, as his whole body stopped writhing and went completely limp, arms dropping to his side.

"… _Sanguini redemptis!"_

The purple light took over, pulsing throughout the room as Soulless burst apart, floating into nothingness, leaving Castiel's hand empty. The glow faded, bringing the room back to a normal light. The angel looked over at Sam who stared up at him blankly as he moved towards him, crouching down in front of him. Castiel frowned; he'd expected some sort of…reaction from Sam. But there was nothing. Nothing but those blank, wounded eyes.

"I'm going to leave now, Sam. When I do, you'll have full control back. You might be a bit disorientated at first; that's not unusual" Cas explained. Sam nodded as the angel stood up.

"Cas?" He looked back down at the youngest Winchester. "Thank you" Sam whispered, his voice quiet and catching. Cas smiled briefly before his light filled the room once more.

 **oOo**

Castiel's essence poured from Sam, landing straight back in his own vessel. Dean was at his brother's side in seconds, cupping his face, holding his head up.

"Sam?" he called, voice desperate, hands trembling. He didn't care. "Sammy, c'mon, open your eyes." His baby brother groaned, eyes easing open, blinking, unfocused, like he hadn't used them in months. He looked around, seeing nothing, unable to concentrate his vision. His arms spasmed sporadically, hitting Dean's accidentally, fingers searching, brushing up and over Dean's sleeves, almost as if he didn't expect him to feel real. His fingers spread, gripping his brother's upper arms as if they were all that stood between him and oblivion.

"Dean?" His voice was raspy and tears welled in his eyes when he finally focused on his brother's face.

"You're alright, Sammy. I got you" Dean pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping him in his arms, cradling his head with one hand. Sam buried his face in his brother's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent, letting the feeling of safety, of _home,_ was over him as Dean whispered in his ear. "I've always got you."

 **oOo**

 **Ta daaaaaa! Sammy's back!**

 **I have to say a massive thank you and kudos to Jared Padalecki in The Bourne Again Identity for helping to make Broken!Sam so much easier to write. God that man can act!**

 **Now, I must confess: I quite like that as an ending but do have plans for a final chapter. Would you like the final one or would you like it to stay a typical SPN vague ending?**


	25. Lost in Paradise

**Thank you so much for all your kind words!**

 _"You believed in me but I'm broken_

 _I have nothing left."_

 _\- Lost in Paradise, Evanescence_

 **oOo**

 **One week later, Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

The warm summer breeze wafted through the open window, bringing the soft scent of blooming flowers mixed with the surprisingly comforting smell of engine oil that Sam had always associated with Bobby's yard. It smelled like home. He was propped up in bed against a swathe of pillows, his face turned to the window, eyes closed as he savoured the feeling of the breeze brushing gently against his skin. It ruffled his hair softly, sweeping it across his forehead. He had forgotten what it was like to feel. It had been overwhelming to start with; everything had been too bright, too loud, too…much. It had been painful but a pain he had welcomed.

 _"He's not looking for you. I'll make sure he never does again."_

Sam's eyes snapped open as the voice resonated inside. He shifted uncomfortably, drawing his gaze away from the window and down to the shackle around his wrist, his fingers idly toying with it.

Dean stood in the doorway, watching his baby brother intently. He had barely left Sam's side since that night, leaving only to get coffee. Studying Sam's demeanour closely, Dean felt his heart squeeze painfully.

Outwardly, the youngest Winchester was now perfectly healthy thanks to Castiel. His russet hair hung in soft waves framing his face, whispering against his neck. It would need cutting soon before it got much longer. He was pale – too pale – with a shadow of stubble running along his jaw. Dark circles were bruised and angry beneath his eyes which were…hollow. Yes, physically he was fine. Mentally, he was fractured.

When Dean moved into the room, Sam looked up at him with a haunted gaze. He looked shattered: as if they had rescued pieces of him that needed to be stuck back together. It was okay – he could do that; it was his job as Sam's big brother.

However long it took.

"Can I take that off yet?" Dean asked, motioning to the shackle Sam was grasping. It ran on a chain to the bedframe, looping around it and securing Sam to the bed. Dean had hated putting it on him in the first place but the hunter had been insistent.

 _"I can feel it, Dean," Sam whimpered, his voice breaking as he shivered uncontrollably. His hands pawed at his brother's as he tried to control his body. "I don't trust myself. And if you won't put me back in the panic room, I need to be secure here. I don't want this, Dean. Not anymore than you do but I need you to do this for me. Please."_

Sam's regression had been almost instant once Soulless was gone. Demon blood still coursed through his veins – not a huge amount, but enough. Soulless couldn't suffered withdrawal but Sam could. It had hit hard, sending him into convulsions and fits that made Dean floor the Impala to get him home in record time.

In the few lucid moments, Sam had insisted on being put in the panic room. Bobby and Dean had quickly changed their minds when the hunter had gone under, into the withdrawal hallucinations. He had screamed and whimpered, tearing at the walls – literally – shrieking for Soulless to let him go, to stop hurting Dean, Bobby, his family. It didn't take long for the older Winchester to realise the connection between the panic room and the version he'd seen in Sam's mind and what it was doing to him.

They'd moved him to the spare room upstairs, helping to ease the hallucinations but not stop them. Dean had reluctantly restrained his brother as per his request.

Sam looked from his brother to the fetter, biting his lip, clearly still not trusting himself. This was the first time Dean had seen him awake and calm in three days. After the fits, he became almost catatonic, sitting and staring at nothing, almost completely unresponsive. Dean had panicked, assuming the worst. Cas had checked him over, again, reassuring Dean that Sam was alright, as much as he could be, but that his mind was repairing itself. Sam would become lucid in his own time.

Setting his coffee on the bedside table, he reached down and unlocked the cuff, pulling it gently from Sam's wrist.

"You don't need it anymore, Sammy" he murmured, smiling encouragingly at his brother. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I think it's gone now" Sam replied; 'it' being the demon blood. Physically he felt fine; tired and aching but like the fever had broken.

 _"You'll never leave. I won't let you."_

Sam flinched, his whole body jerking violently. Dean raised a concerned eyebrow as he pulled the chain off the bed. "What is it?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his tired gaze sliding back towards the window and the sunlight. Dean waited, watching his brother. Watched the stillness that had settled over him unnaturally like he'd frozen in place. His mouth was turned down; it was as though his whole relaxed demeanour had changed. Gone was the quiet, serious Sam who smiled easily, replaced by this sombre version whose light had gone from his eyes.

Dean had almost started to think Sam had forgotten he was there when he started to speak. His tone was low and almost monotonous, barely above a whisper.

"I still hear him – in my head. Things I see, stuff I hear…it triggers things he would say to me. I like to think it's not really him."

"It's not, Sammy. He's gone; Cas was sure." Because Dean had made him check and recheck, just to ease his own mind. His own guilt.

"I know he was and I think a part of me knows that. I feel…fractured. Like I know a piece has gone. Crazy, right?" Sam scoffed, the sound empty and mirthless. His gaze stayed on the window. "I know the things I've seen in the last few days were hallucinations because of the blood detox but…"

"But what?"

"I still can't tell you that this is all real. I know it _feels_ real. More real than anything Soulless showed me, but that doesn't mean he didn't finally stick me in a reality of his making. I _want_ to believe this is real, I really do."

"What can I do?"

The desperation, the need to make everything better nearly choked him. Dean needed to make it okay again, to redeem himself after months of ignorance. Sam could feel it rolling off of his brother in waves. He wanted to be fine so that Dean wouldn't worry, but that never really happened. Dean was always going to worry over him.

Sam moved his gaze back to his brother, the movement unnatural and forced. Everything was such an effort. He had hoped that getting his body back would make him normal. It didn't. He felt more disjointed than ever. A part of him recognised that it was a side effect of the withdrawal from demon blood, but the bigger part knew it was more.

"Can you just be here?" Sam murmured, his eyes fixed on Dean's. Bright emerald scanned him continually, looking for things to fix but not finding anything to latch onto. "I just…need you here."

The simple admission was almost more than Dean could bear. It was like they were kids again when Dean would be the one to fight the monsters of Sam's nightmares.

"I think I can do that" he replied, giving Sam a soft half smile. He nudged Sam's leg, motioning for him to move over. Sam obliged, leaving enough room on the bed for Dean to sit next to him. The old Winchester scooted onto the bed, sitting upright, back pressed against the headboard, his legs stretched in front of him. They didn't come anywhere near the length of Sam's who was propped up against the pillows lower down than his brother.

For a while, they just sat there, simply being brothers. They said nothing, they didn't move. They just absorbed their unity, finding peace in each other's company. It was one of the rare moments after the storms they weathered where they just... _were._ It made Sam feel safe, even if it was only for a while. He felt like a child again, but he didn't care. This is what he needed. What they both did. He began to speak, still not looking up at his brother.

"You couldn't have done any more than you did, Dean. You couldn't have known what was happening; I didn't for a long time. I tried to tell you but it _wasn't your fault_. It was his. He stopped me from being able to tell you. I wish you wouldn't blame yourself. You were the one who kept me going in there. I heard you – on that day, after Meg found me. You can't be a better brother to me than you already are. You didn't give up on me. I'm only here because of you."

Dean remained silent, his eyes welling with tears of relief, guilt, sorrow. It was too much. He had prayed – for the first time in a long time – during his confession to his brother in the panic room, hoping that Sam had heard. That he'd fight. The fact that he had and that he did…it eased a tiny portion of the pain. Sam had known he hadn't been alone. Dean couldn't even begin to comprehend what had happened to Sam – it would be a long time before the younger Winchester could even contemplate talking about it – but knowing that he had given comfort helped.

It was a start.

"Like I was gonna let you off easy. We don't quit; you know that." Dean sniffed.

Sam gave the briefest smile. "No. We don't."

"Speaking of not quitting," Dean reached down the side of the bed, breaking the moment, pulling Sam's laptop up. "I'm pretty sure we had Game of Thrones to catch up on. If you're gonna be lazing 'round in bed all day, we might as well do somethin' productive."

"Watching Game of Thrones is productive?"

"Obviously."

Sitting there, watching his big brother fiddle with the laptop, setting it up on his lap, Sam couldn't have cared less if this wasn't real. Maybe this was in his head; he couldn't tell. But if this was how it was going to be in his head, so be it. He wasn't a monster. Not anymore. At least he was happy here. At least he had his brother.

That was all that mattered.

 **oOo**

 **And we're finished! I really hope you have enjoyed going on this journey with me. It's be an awesome return to fanfiction for me.**

 **Your final thoughts would be massively appreciated; your lovely encouragement has made this all the sweeter!**

 **See you soon!**


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